What I did For Love
by arysoakheart
Summary: "It's only a week. Just think of it as me going off to camp." "Oh, right. A camp full of murders, rapists, and felons. And for arts and crafts...you're gonna learn how to make a shank out of a tooth brush." Season 1 Slight AU; Michael/OC
1. It's gotta be big

"Miss. Boswell," her head snapped up from the green notepad that lay open on the desk; the once neat lined paper was crumpled around the edges, some ripped. Scrawls of words and highlighter marks filled the sheet to the top; a few lines of whiteout scattered here and there. "Great job on the article" The professor of journalism, Ian Samuels, laid the neatly typed paper on top of the notebook; replacing the repulsive scrawl with the neatly typed assignment. Erica Boswell, twenty-four year old journalism major at Chicago University, looked down at the words scattered across the pages; some how she had been able to neatly put them into several arrangements of persuading and articulate paragraphs; how she did that with the level of stress she was under…she'll never know.

"What?" she asks, astonishment etched in every word; he couldn't possibly be talking about her article…the one of Vice President Reynolds?

"I said, great job on the article." Mr. Samuels chuckled lightly; his fingers running along the top of the white pages again before he handed them one by one to the rest of the students around her.

She picked the paper up with great ease, almost like it would detonate at any moment. She glanced at the words over and over again; not noticing how good her writing had become since three years ago. "The dean wants to print it in the next _Chicago University Times_." she looked at him again; her eyes the size of goofballs as she tried to choke down and swallow the words he was saying. Having an article put in there was like having it put in _Time Magazine_.

"Really?" she asked without thinking; her voice holding surprise. She wasn't very confident in her work. "I mean-that's great." She tried to cover up her surprise by acting professional; she sat up straighter, and pushed her hair behind her ears, showing off the pearl earrings that her mother had given her at her high school graduation. Mr. Samuel's smiled; understanding the feeling.

"Yes, really. He talked about printing it in the local papers too" he paused, choosing his next words carefully, "maybe even papers across the country." He drawled out slowly. He didn't get the reaction that he had expected.

"It was really that good?" she asked, now, she didn't have a big head; but she was quite proud of herself. If that got printed in even the local news papers, she was just another step closer to getting the job at the _Chicago Times_; something she'd dreamed about since she was in middle school.

"Yes, it was grade-A work. Very professional." He replied.

"Yeah," she shook her head a small smile tearing at her lips, "but, I don't know if my stance on Vice President Reynolds will sit well with the rest of the country." It's true; it probably wouldn't. It wasn't that she was insensitive to the death of the Vice President's Brother, by all means she felt quite sorry for the women. But, she thought she was a little shady as well, something about her irked her last nerve; and the fact that at local was charged with the murder…a story like that was too good to pass up.

"That's one quality all journalists have. We want people to hate us," Mr. Samuel's sighed and drummed his fingers across the wooden face of her desk; he seemed deep in thought. "Let's us know that they're actually reading are stuff…really reading it. Reading and realizing that we're right." He finished with a smirk. Erica looked at him and rolled her eyes slightly so that he wouldn't see; he'd always been a little self absorbed…and little too friendly with the female students…but that's a different story.

"The semester is almost over," he announced from the front of the small room. The students absentmindedly looked out the windows just as the fresh rain began to sprinkle onto the glass, contorting the images outside like a wet picture. "Meaning?" Mr. Samuels tapped his foot on the floor; the small heel of his Italian leather boots clicking against the marble, snapping the students from the hypnotized gaze. "Anyone wanna take a stab at it; no, no?" he clapped his hands together, before dropping them back onto the desk with a bang.

"Final articles, people!" he raised his voice, a hint of enthusiasm could be heard; but you really had to listen. Erica rested her chin on the palm of her hand, her ball point pen absentmindedly tapped against the notebook, marking it with small spots of black ink. "The article that will determine whether you will get that job at the _Chicago Times_; or spend the rest of your lives writing freelance for websites and god forbid, livejournal!"

A girl in the back of the room crossed her arms over her chest angrily; her dark red hair falling into her eyes as she looked back across the window. Erica could swear it was like being in high school all over again; she was the perfect cliché "freak", and the resident user of livejournal in the class. The students turned from the smirking and rested their attention back on Mr. Samuels. "You don't want a good article people…you want a great one." Erica sat there for a minute, taking in what he had just said. He was right, if any of them wanted this job, this guaranteed spot; no resumes, no internships, no desk job…then they needed this article to be the best they'd ever done. Her mind was already racing with thoughts of stories and articles; the possibilities were endless.

"What are you gonna do?" Erica nagged; pulling her purse closer to her side and pulling the gray hood over her head as she and another woman walked off the curb; looking both ways before splashing though the puddles in front of them. Emily, the other woman, opened red umbrella and held it above their heads as they walked towards the parking lot.

"Drug Wars in Mexico; my uncles a border officer." She smiled brightly, her matching red jacket shielding her eyes from the pounding rain. Erica nodded, raising an eyebrow at her friend's choice, why hadn't she come up with that first, is what she was wondering though. It was a magnificent story…

"That's-" she began cautiously; stuffing her hands into her pockets and grouping around for her car keys; hopefully they weren't inside that bottomless pit that she called a purse, or else she'd never find them.

"Dangerous? Yeah, I know." She replied matter-o-faculty; almost like she knew the reaction before Erica had even asked the question. She had already heard it from her mother, her father…and her sister. Nothing was changing her mind at his point. With the rain still pounding on the umbrella she clicked the unlock button on her car keys; the locks on the black SUV popping up.

"A lot of reporters have been killed down there." Erica pushed; referring to the several that had just been killed the week before last. She looked at her, the tip of her nose dripping with the coming rain; this waterproof jacket wasn't helping her much. And when her mood was bad…so were her ideas.

"None of them American." Emily reminded her, throwing her bag into the passenger seat.

"Yet." Erica pressed.

"Hey, a little encouragement would be nice." Emily begged half-heartedly; opening her arms and then dropping them lazily. Erica rolled her eyes and nodded; she had a competitive streak that came out whenever something of her was at stake…she just wished her streak would let its guard down when it involved her friends.

"Alright, alright." She replied over the rain; it had begun to let up slightly. "I'm just- it's risky…that's all."

"Yeah, but all reporters have to sacrifice something." Emily replied, leaning against the black face of the car. Erica looked across the parking lot at her small dark blue Honda; it was dwarfed by the size of this truck.

"Even their live?" Erica pressed, crossing her arms over her chest as a small chill ran up her spine; the wet clothes clinging to her back.

"Even their live." Reassured her. "What about you? What's you genius plan of getting that job at the Times?" she playfully punched her in the arm; insinuating that Erica's mind was probably already made up about what she wanted to do. Oh, how wrong she was…

"I haven't thought of anything yet. But," she paused and kicked a piece of wet paper that was by the tire of the gigantic truck; a picture of VP Reynolds donned the page; the color and words faded and dripping from the previous shower, "It's gotta be big."

"Oh, please," Emily scoffed, leaning into the truck she started the car; the engine roaring the life with the sound of a jet engine. "You know Mr. Samuels would recommend you to the Times in a heart beat." Erica rolled her eyes and tried to hide the smirk that was creeping onto her face. "You could write an article on the quality of school lunches, sum it up in one word," she said pointing a finger at her and chuckling "and still get in. He does on you."

Erica raised her eyebrows and looked down at the ground, shuffling her feet before looking back up at her friend. "That's because he thinks all those compliments will somehow get him in my pants." As if on cue, Mr. Samuels walked out of the building; waving a goodbye and wink to the both of them as he made his way towards the other side of the parking lot, the lights of his red Corvette blinking twice as he unlocked the doors.

"Is it working?" Emily teased, watching as the red car pulled out of the parking lot.

"Not a chance." Erica replied, rain drops began to fall again. Emily looked up, groaning at the sky as a few made their way into her eyes.

"Well, listen. I gotta go, but, don't stress over it," she gave Erica's shoulder a squeeze, "That article on VP Reynolds is generating a lot of buzz. You've probably got a guaranteed slot already." She hoisted herself into the car and rolled down the tinted window.

"Yeah, but. Whatever I do…it's gonna be big." Erica reassured her once again; Emily nodded and rolled up the window, honking a goodbye as she pulled towards the exit. Erica breathed out heavily, and began to make her way across the parking lot

"It's gotta be big." She mumbled under her breath; reassuring herself over and over again. "It's gotta be big."


	2. And there on the front page

**A/N: This chapter will be written in First Person, instead of Third Person. I may just go onto all First Person…but we'll see. Special shout outs to: Millie55 and Imogen-x0x for reviewing!**

"What to do, _what to do_…" I mumbled under my breath; leaning back in the black spinning chair that was positioned in front of the wooden desk. The bright blue light from the computer face illuminated the room as I chewed on the end of my pencil; little bits of pink eraser falling onto my tongue before I spit them out. I glanced at the clock; 10:00. With as much force as possible I slammed the pencil down onto the face of the wooden desk, denting the black sheet of notebook paper. I had been sitting in the same spot for almost six hours, the same cursor flashing across the word document; laughing at my feeble attempts to at least try and discover a story worth writing. Running a hand thought my dark black, and unruly hair, I pulled at it; the pain at the base of my skull waking me up.

"Why can't you think of anything?" I groaned, letting my forehead drop against the desk several times, each time the hollow sound echoed off the walls of the still apartment. I let my head rest against the polished wood for a minute more listening to the stillness around me; the only sounders that lingered were the light drops of rain as they pelted against the windows, and the occasional beeping of my automatic air fresher as it sprayed the room with a honeysuckle perfume. I slowly lifted my head; knowing there was going to be a knot right in the middle of my face tomorrow morning. I just couldn't understand it, where was my muse? When Mr. Samuel's gave us our last article to write I had already knew what my topic was going to be on….of course no one else in their right mind would insult the Vice President of the United States of America right after her brother had been murdered, right? I was always coming up new and innovative things to write about, things that no one else would ever dream of delving into; for fear of public ridicule.

"Five dolla'." The Asian man ordered his voice quick and harsh as he thrust his hand out towards me; demanding payment for the food that he had just so rudely shoved into my hands. The rain must have picked up; he was dripping from head to toe. He looked at me impatiently as I held my hand up apologizing as I rushed towards the inside of my apartment; I cursed at him under my breath as I came back with his five dollars and a two dollar tip. Without even so much as a 'thank you' or 'have a nice night' I shut the door as he turned his back. Brining the brown paper bag back to the computer desk with me I refocused my attention on the ever blinking cursor that sat stationary at the top of the blank word document. I always tried to write articles from prior knowledge, or experience; it made them feel more realistic, rawer, but, right now…I was having second thoughts. My fingers brushed over the black keyboard typing in the word 'topic' at the top of the page…and the nothing. Nothing else seemed to find its way into my brain at the moment. How do you even come up with a good topic? Minimizing the document I had to face my last resort…Google search. The internet was a dangerous place to find information; some of it was legit…most of it wasn't. Most of it was trash, lies, and defiantly not the truth. I never used the internet for my articles, even if it was on a topic that I had not experience in; I'd rather on an adventure for the truth than dabble with false reports on the web.

I cursed silently as I typed in problem after problem. "Education in Chicago," I whispered under my breath, typing the topic in as I said it aloud. The rain continued to pound on the windows outside, the wind whistling though the microscopic cracks in the ceiling; the fan on the desk had been turned on, sending a cool breeze over my face. I was faced with webpage after webpage as I searched for information; all was the same, none of it original…just carbon copies of thousands of other articles that had be written before it. It seemed like hours before I glanced at the clock; and it had in fact been two hours. I glanced, at the pile of crumpled up paper that had begun to manifest on the floor beside my chair, some had writing on them…and other didn't. I leaned back in the chair again; dipping my head back I looked up at the ceiling, my brown eyes focusing on the small patterns that couldn't even be seen by the naked eye; I just pretended they were there. Maybe this just wasn't meant to be; I mean usually I was the top dog when it came to big term articles and things like that, right now, I was just…I didn't even know what. Maybe I wasn't meant to get this job, maybe I was just a one hit wonder. I closed my eyes and pushed the chair out from underneath me as I stood up and stalked over to the coat rack and grabbed my forest green wind breaker before closing and locking the door.

I needed a drink. Not necessarily an alcoholic one, but just a drink. The drive to the small corner store wasn't more than a couple of minutes; but it gave me time to think. I watched several homeless men and women trying to protect themselves from the rain, even though it was beginning to wean off a bit. I notice several prostitutes walking up to expensive looking cars, their windows rolling down slowly as the headlights of another car caught them in the sinful act. So many stories were presenting themselves to me, and I was ignoring them. They were too juvenile, too much of a charity cause than an article dripping with the hard truth. I wasn't surprised when I reached the store and was the only one there; I mean who else in there right mind would be out on the streets of Chicago at twelve thirty in the morning? I shielded my eyes from the rain, and wandering eyes of whoever may have been outside the building. My sights were set on some Root Beer and Ice cream; there's nothing wrong with a midnight snack, plus, maybe this would trigger some sort of incredible article opportunity. The man at the counter watched me cautiously as I continued on though the store, picking up some bubble gum and laundry detergent as I made my way towards the front.

"That'll be ten dollars even." He informed me, his left hand under the counter; no doubt his finger was on the red alert button, he'd probably been robbed so many times he didn't know who to trust anymore. Digging in my purse I pulled out the only thing that I could find; a twenty. The cash register dinged as he placed the ten in its place and then proceeded in counting out my cash-back. My eyes wandered, I must have looked a little suspicious to him; but what else am I going to do, he's taking five minutes to count out ten dollars. My suddenly stopped wandering, my mouth dropped open slowly as I reached my hand out and picked the newspaper up from the stand. There on the front of the local papers was my story: _"Lincoln Burrows, the man accused of murdering Terrance Steadman, the brother of Vice President Reynolds, has been sentenced to death row. His execution is reported as being held on May 11." _ I held the paper with both of my hands, re-reading the small print over and over again. God has a funny way of working things, doesn't he? I studied the pictures on the front page; Reynolds in all her glory, standing up on the presidential podium and telling people what they wanted to here, not what she stood for; and on the other side, Lincoln Burrows, his eyes menacing and unemotional as he looked straight ahead. My lips twitched slightly; this was my story.


	3. Sacrifices must be made

**A/N: Written in First Person. Tell me what you guys prefer more. Again, shutout to Millie55 for being such a faithful reviewer! Remember to Review.**

"You want to do what?" I didn't expect anything less than the reaction that I had just gotten from Mr. Samuels. I came into the college today knowing the several ways that he could have taken this; could have been supportive, 2. He could have been somewhat supportive, and 3. He could be outraged by the prospect of my idea; needless to say…he took the latter. His mouth hung open, his jaw inclining towards the polished floor as the early rays of sun shone off of the tiled mess, his blue eyes staring at me intensely, almost like he was expecting this to be a joke, he of all people should I have known that this was no laughing matter.

"I want a week in Fox River Penitentiary." I repeated again, holding my head high and placing my hands in my lap. My heart beat against my chest, anticipating his next words. I should have known that this kind of request was going to be denied.

"What? No-absolutely not! That's a lawsuit waiting to happen." He stammered over his words, his hands slamming down onto the face of his desk. Several papers flew from the neatly placed stacks on the corner; falling onto the ground silently. The veins in his neck looked as if they were about to protrude out of his neck at any minute.

"Mr. Samuels," I started carefully, shifting my weight to my other side as I pulled the chair closer to his desk. I wanted him to know that this wasn't some farfetched idea that I had just come up with this morning, or the minute that I walked though the campus doors. I had tossed and turned all night, thinking of a way to convince him to let me do this. "You yourself said that sacrifices must be made in the name of journalism"

He looked dumbfounded. Pushing his chair away from the desk he stood up, his eyes wide again; he thought I was penning this idea on him, that his words of wisdom had prompted me to go on this suicide mission. "Yes, sacrifices!" he raised his voice, throwing his hands into the air, "Lack of sleep, insomnia, carpel tunnel, caffeine addiction," he stuttered, "no-not death!" At that moment Emily's words echoed thorough my mind: _'Even their life?' 'Even their life.'_ I looked down at the floor; my desire for this story coursed though my veins at rapid speeds.

"This is a death sentence." I argued, pushing the chair from underneath me as well. I stood up, my tennis shoes squeaking against the floor as I crossed my arms over my chest. "It's an in-depth, hand on research on what an all male prison is like." Not all of this was completely true.

"That's what the Discovery Channel is for." He argued, seeming to be dismissing the idea with much as a statement. He began to shuffle with things on his desk, picking up the papers that had fallen on the floor and throwing them into random piles that had produced since the argument had begun.

"Unfortunately, the Discovery Channel is limited to what they can show." I pushed, coming around to the other side of his desk, so I was now face to face with him; so much as a sheet of paper could be put between us now. He seemed stunned by my sudden courage to stand up to him; he was a ladies man, most women knew how to take no for an answer when it was him…but not me.

"And for a good reason," he spat, the hot breath tickled my face; it smelled like Vanilla coffee. "Do you even known what kind of men are in there?" I opened my mouth to answer, not realizing that this was one of his rhetorical questions that he liked to ask the class just to get a conversation or debate going. "Rapists, murders!" he finished, stepping away from me as he continued to dabble with things among the desk.

"I'm fully aware of that-"I began to counteract, placing my hands on his desk.

"And not to mention the fact that most of them haven't seen a woman counterpart in almost what, twenty, maybe even thirty years. You'll be their prime target!" He went on, rambling on, and on about how much danger I would be putting myself in. I had to stop him before he got too much into details.

"Mr. Samuels, I've though this threw," I paused. That was a lie. I had only thought some of it though, like what information I needed to get, and how I was going to get to Lincoln Burrows; my mind hadn't had time to process the idea of more inmates being around me…and not to mention how I was going to be safe. "And-"I paused again. "I can't do it. It's only a week."

Mr. Samuels stopped, and slammed a pile of papers down on his desk. He chuckled to himself dryly, you know, the sound that people make when they know they can't win; like when you're playing Monopoly and some one lands on a piece of real estate that you own…they always give you that sarcastic chuckle when they hand over your money. I couldn't help but smile inside, thinking that maybe, just maybe he was considering it. He looked up from the papers and rested one hand against the desk, his other hands rubbing his temple. He took a deep breath and then released, bobbing his head up and down.

"No more, no less?" he questioned. My eyes widened, my jaw felt like jelly as I tried to comprehend what it was that he was insinuating.

"No more…no less." I answered. "I-uh," I looked down at the ground, knowing I'd have to disclose the actual reason for me wanting to venture into the unknown; well, the land unknown to women. "I um, wanted this to-uh- to a follow up on my recent article." He quirked his brow upward, not understand my plea. "Um. Lincoln Burrow's is incarcerated there." I finished, glancing down at the ground. I heard him laugh dryly again, and I closed my eyes. Knowing that he'd never let me venture into the prison now…especially to interact with a death row inmate.

"You really want this job, don't you?" is what I heard instead. My head snapped up from the ground, a smirk played across his lips as he watched my mouth contort, a small smile peeking though my collected façade.

"With every fiber in my being sir." I answered, standing up straight and hiding the smile. He nodded his head, and opened a drawer of his desk. Craning my neck to the side I tried to see the items that he was removing, all I could see were stacks of notepads, rubber bands and scores upon scores of pencils. He rummaged though it for a few seconds before closing it and walking towards me, holding his hand out.

"I can't believe I'm doing this." He sighed, a hint of fear in his voice; he shoved the things that were in his hand towards me, I took them cautiously. Looking at him before glancing back down at my fists, I opened them up. There in my hands sat a small note pad, a wooden number two pencil, and a small pocket sized tape recorder. "Inform you family; no one else. We'll have to visit Fox River Friday and get permission from the Warden." I hadn't analyzed anything he'd said; I was too busy examining the three small pieces of equipment that were going to ultimately change my life.

"So, it's a done-deal?" I asked exasperated as I dropped the three items into my purse, my heart beat a mile a minute, just imagining that soon I was going to be in prison. That definitely wasn't what I was voted in the high school.

"Not quite," he said apprehensively, carefully drawling out the words. The Warden has to approve, and-"

"And he's not going to like the idea." I finished, my face felt hot. A mixture of anger and embarrassment; how could I have been so stupid? I should have known I wouldn't be able to just waltz into a prison, hand them a note saying I was in for the week and then leave like nothing happened. The word just didn't work that way.

"Not a bit." Mr. Samuel's repeated. So, work a very persuasive speech." He placed a hand on my shoulder and squeezed it. I knew he was just trying to give me encouragement; I gave him a small smile.

"Well, I convinced you didn't I?"


	4. Arson, Murders, and Assulat Oh my!

**A/N: Millie55, thanks for reviewing! Written in First Person once again. **

**Disclaimer: Mm. Prison Break or anything that you recognize is (sadly) not mine. **

"You know," Mr. Samuels started, bringing the car to a halt in the Penitentiary parking lot. My eyes traveled up and down the colossal building that loomed in front of us; the sky was overcast with rain clouds, casting a grew and bleak shadow over the maximum security prison; making the ominous feeling more evident. "You don't have to do this. I can help you come up with another article." I hadn't heard a word that he was saying. My beating heart filled my ears with its rapid and pulsating movement as it beat against my chest, a few rain drops began to fall onto the windshield; the liquid rolling off the clear glass right before my eyes.

"Erica?" I felt someone shake my arm lightly; I turned my head, only to catch Mr. Samuel's concerned look as he tightened his grip on my black sweater. "Are you listening to me?" he asked, putting the car in park.

"No, no. I'm-I'm sorry." I apologized, my eyes once again glancing out of the window as two officers began to approach our car, guns held in each of their hands. They're uniforms were black as night, a radio on each of their shoulders; they didn't look like the type to mess around. One of the men made a motion with their hands for us to step out of the vehicle. Taking a deep breath, I looked over at Mr. Samuels, who was already complying with their orders. Maybe he was right, maybe I really didn't understand or even realize what I would be getting myself into. Slowly opening the door, I stepped out of his red Corvette; leaving my purse and anything else of any value under the seat. I closed the door cautiously, being careful not to put my hands where they couldn't see them; I'd watched Cops before…

"What are you two doin' here? There's no visitation today." One of the men asked, stopping in front of Mr. Samuels, the gun held down by his side. My breath hitched in my throat, even though I'd lived in Chicago my whole life…I'd never seen a gun up close; and I never intended to. Mr. Samuels glanced over in my direction, his eyes wide and screaming, but his demeanor…stock still, and professional. "Hey!" the officer raised his voice, causing Mr. Samuels and I both to jump slightly. "Don't look at her. I'm asking you a question," Mr. Samuels' jaw began to move, but nothing but air came out. The officer stepped closer to him, almost so that their chests were touching one another's. I hadn't been able to get a good look at the man until now; his face was pudgy and eyes small, he wasn't very good looking; he must have used his intimidating looks to accommodate for his lack of height. "You know I could put you in jail just for trespassing on _Federal property_." The man stressed the word loudly; my eye twitched slightly as a drop of rain found its way onto my eyelash.

I watched Mr. Samuels carefully, waiting for him to answer. I'd never seen him like this…afraid, intimidated…not in control. His eyes continued to stare into the officers, his pupils growing with every nerve-shattering second, his jaw moved up and down, searching for words, but not being able to find any.

"We have a meeting with Warden Pope." I answered, my voice louder than I had intended. The way the officer looked at me would have made any other person crumble in fear, but I was so paralyzed that I couldn't even move; the gun that was hanging down by his side held my attention. The rain had begun to fall heavier now, a light drizzle falling onto the four of us. The officer turned his attention back to Mr. Samuels and gave him a dry smile, but it held something more; a certain cockiness that I just couldn't put my finger on.

"Well," he began, reaching forward and clapping a hand on Mr. Samuels' shoulder, and shaking him a bit, "Why didn't you say so?" Mr. Samuels looked relieved, his shoulders slumped and a bottled up sigh of relief flew from both of our mouths.

"Alright, follow me." Mr. Samuels dropped his relieved façade as we both followed behind the stocky officer, the skinner one trailed behind us slowly. I looked over at Mr. Samuels, letting a relieved smile grace my features; now, I was the one trying to calm his nerves. It was only a few seconds later that the two officers led us through a corridor. My eyes traveled over the various rooms that we passed on the way towards what I was guessing, was the Warden's Office. I didn't feel as worried when the officer in front led us into a large room; it wasn't every well lit, the rain pounded on the glass just outside of the curtains. A woman sat at the desk that was positioned in front of the window, I was indeed surprised to see that a woman would even work in such a place like this. The officer that led us into the room removed his hat from his head; I wish he had of kept it on, it was hiding his prematurely balding head that made him look even more unapproachable than he already did. The women at the desk raised her head from whatever she was doing and looked at the four of us; her eyes lit up and a smile graced her face. I wondered: How could she possibly be happy in a place like this?

"Oh, Morning Officer Bellick." The woman greeted happily, her eyes adverted their gaze behind him as she noticed us standing there. I stood awkwardly; my arms cross over my chest as I gave her a small smile.

"Morning Becky," The officer, now known as Bellick, answered. "Got a couple here, says they gotta a mettin' with the pope." He informed her, taking a glace back at the two of us; he voice held suspicion. I furrowed my eyebrows together; why else would we be here?

"Oh," Becky said politely, standing up from her seat and straightening out her skirt as she walked from around the desk, her heels clicking against the carpeted floor as she walked towards the other oak door that was on the other side of the room. "The Wardens been expecting you two." She glanced back at us, giving us another warm smile.

"_Warden?"_ Becky asked as she opened the door, only peeking her head inside, _"Theres some people here to see you." _ I could hear her inform him as we wait over by the desk; Officer Bellick readjusted his belt and sucked his stomach in as he took a quick glance back in our direction. Mr. Samuels leaned over and whispered,

"Do you really want to do this?" his voice was soft, his eyes watching Officer Bellick as he turned back around focusing his attention on the two having the conversation though the door. I turned my head towards him, giving him a reassuring smile and nodding.

"Yeah. I'm sure."

"_Who?" _I could faintly make out a man's voice coming from the Wardens office; I half expected it to be Warden Pope himself. Becky nodded and turned just enough so she could see the two of us.

"Where are you two from again?" she asked politely, I smiled.

"Chicago University." I answered, rocking back and forth on my heels. She nodded her head before reopening the door once again.

"_It's the folks from Chicago University._" She informed him.

"_Ah. Yes, send them in._" At the sound of this request Becky opened the door, wider allowing the rest of us in the room to see a wooden structure sitting on the large table in the middle of his office; it was quite large, and looked out of place in such a building like this. Maybe it was a hobby of his? Another man was crouched beside the wooden model, his hands moving slowly as he worked on something. I furrowed my eyebrows together; he was wearing a light blue button up with a grey long sleeved under shirt, and the standard prison issue dark blue pants and work boots. My eyes widened slightly, he couldn't have been an officer…but a prisoner in the Warden's office…doing work like that? It didn't make sense. "_Officer Bellick, will you escort Mr. Schofield back to his cell_."

Bellick made a movement with his head for us to follow him towards the office. Taking small strides I followed first, keeping my hands down by my side, my fingers instinctively picked at the skin surrounding my nails; a nervous habit. Officer Bellick walked in first, a pair of handcuffs making their way from his back pocket as he walked towards the inmate that was positioned near the wooden structure. I stopped at the door, trying my best not to make eye contact with the man standing in the middle of the room; I watched the procedure thoroughly, noticing how rough Bellick was with him. I didn't see the need for it; he seemed too well behaved to be in a prison like this. As hard as I may have tried it didn't seem to work. As Bellick half pushed, half pulled the man towards the door his eyes flicked to me. I held his gaze for a moment, my breath holding its place in my chest as his eyebrows knitted together in confusion; his eyes never left mine as the officer forcefully pushed him towards the door. I stood at the door for a moment longer, turning and watching them leave the outer office, and disappear down the hallway. Something about that inmate was strange, not the bad psycho strange, but the 'he knows something's up' strange; it was almost like he was analyzing me.

"Hello," the older man in the interior office greeted us. His smile was warm and welcoming. He had a hardy face; small eyes and a grey mustache adorned his face as he came around from the other desk positioned towards the very end of the room, like the one in the outer office, it was right in front of the window. "And to what do I owe the pleasure?" he finished the formal meeting, standing with his hands behind his back.

"Please the pleasure is all ours." I answered, taking the initiative and letting my presence be known instead of Mr. Samuels doing all of the talking. "I'm Erica Boswell." I stuck my hand out towards the older man, smiling as he took it gently and shook it; like old friends.

"Ian Samuels; Professor of Journalism," Mr. Samuels introduced himself as Warden Pope raised his eyebrows at his presence. He smiled warmly and shook his hand as well. Before gesturing towards the two chairs that were seated in front of his desk.

"Please sit." We took our seats slowly, I took the one on the left closest to the wooden model, and Mr. Samuels took the seat closest to the door. "Miss. Boswell, if you don't mind me asking? You wrote that article on Vice President Reynolds…am I correct?" he speculated, resting his hands on his desk.

I smiled and nodded my head slowly, my cheeks probably burning red with embarrassment. I hadn't expected someone like him to have paid any mind to a young adult's stance on someone who was elected to shape the country for the better.

"Yes sir. You've read it?" I inquired, cocking my head to the side.

"Read it, "he gave a hardy laugh; the sound echoing off the white walls of the office. "My wife won't put it down. She absolutely adores the harsh and ugly truth of things that you bring to light." I smiled brightly this time; blushing even more at his praise.

"Well, tell your wife that I am flattered and that perhaps she'd be interested in reading my next article." I answered, crossing my jean clad legs and sitting up more in the chair. I took a deep breath. I had run though this in my head thousands of times since I went to bed last night. If I wanted to convince him to do this then I would need to be discreet on how I put it until I could get all of my information out on the table. "You may be of some interest as well, Mr. Pope." He pursed his lips together and looked at me strangely; leaning forward in his chair he folded his hands on top of his desk.

"And what his this article about, Miss. Boswell?" he inquired; I could hear his foot tapping against the floor. Suddenly everything in the room was silent; my mind couldn't even register the sound of the rain pounding on the windows outside.

"Fox River Penitentiary" I answered, the name coming out in a jumble of words.

"Pardon?" Warden Pope inquired, leaning towards his desk more as he let out a nervous laugh. His eyes were no longer soft, but hard, hard as stone and staring at me with the looks of a concerned and frightened man. Mr. Samuels must have noticed the same look; he intervened on the conversation.

"Warden Pope, what Miss. Boswell is trying to say is that-"I shook my head and closed my eyes for a second before completely cutting Mr. Samuels off mid sentence.

"I'd like to write an in-depth article about life in an all male penitentiary." I'd have to leave the little bit about Lincoln Burrows out of the initial briefing until I knew that I would have a guaranteed spot at the prison. The Warden's eyes softened and he let out a low chuckle, almost like he was relieved of something.

"Oh," he laughed, "Why did you just say so. I'm sure we can pull some files-"

"No, Mr. Pope," I just him off abruptly; he snapped his head towards me and I could already see Mr. Samuels hands running over his face from the corner of my eye, he was just as, if not more, as I was doing this. "I want to saying in Fox River for a week, and observe and report my findings."

He looked dumbfounded as he took in my expression; I half expected him to laugh, thinking that maybe we were here on some joke and any minute now he was going to call the officers in to escort us from the premises. But he didn't, he continued to stare. I starred back, my eyes occasional adverting towards the ground.

"You-You want to stay in an all male prison. Well that's-that's out of the question. Absolutely not." His words were jumbled all together as his face turned red with anger; he began to pace behind his desk.

"Warden, with all due respect," I looked up towards the ceiling, "I need this article" I practically begged as I looked back at him, my eyes pleading.

"Miss. Boswell, with all due respect." He mocked, "This just simply cannot be done, shouldn't be done, and won't be done." I slumped down into the chair; defeated.

"Warden, we apologize for wasting your time." Mr. Samuels growled as politely as possible, grabbing the back of my black sweater he pulled me up from the seat; I ripped it away from him. My face felt hot and I could already feel the sweat beginning to build up on my brow as I continued to watch him. I felt like an idiot, I came in here, confidence on high…only to be shot down by the one person that could help my dream come true.

"That's quite all right, not a problem." He reassured us as Mr. Samuels dragged me towards the door, I went willingly; all my confidence drained. "Now, if you will excuse me. I've got some business to attend to."

We were almost out into the outer office when something occurred to me. This isn't how my father would have wanted this; if it were him in his position he would have fought to death for this story. Turning around sharply, and narrowly missing Mr. Samuels outstretched arm I slammed my hands back down onto his desk; he looked up at me, appalled.

"Warden, what do I have to do in order for you to allow me access to this prison?" I half begged, half ordered. This was my last chance to get this…

"No amount of money in the word could persuade me to put an innocent life in danger." He answered defiantly, leaning against his desk as he continued to stare up at me.

"Erica, come on," I heard Mr. Samuels hiss; I could tell he was embarrassed by my actions. His hand reached out and grabbed my arm roughly; attempting to pull me towards the door again. I pulled my arm out of his grasp, scowling at him angrily.

"Mr. Samuels, please." I hissed, before turning my attention back to the Warden. "What about a compromise?" I added quickly. I had one chance left.

The Warden seemed to be in deep thought as he looked around the room, he let out an exasperated breath and then sat back down at his desk; folding his hands on top of it.

"What kind of compromise?"

"You let me stay here, for a week, seven days…and I'll abide by all and any rules that you feel necessary; with some exceptions." I answered, my voice pleading. He looked at me for a long minute before nodding his head, standing up from his place behind the desk.

"Well, seeing as this is an all male prison, many precautions would have to be take; separated cells, guards always on their toes; more so now because their would be a woman among the prisoners."

"No special treatment." I said quickly; The Warden quirked an eyebrow.

"Excuse me?"

"No special treatment. The prisoners would start to wonder…they'd become suspicious." I added quickly; like a woman being in their prison wasn't suspicious enough.

"Miss Boswell, you can't expect me to let you stay in a cell with a convicted killer." He shook his head, staring at me with burning eyes, his face red.

"Warden, I'm perfectly capable of handling myself."

"Not against a convicted killer." He argued, his voice rising slightly.

"And, the guards can stick around me however long they feel necessary." I argued back, "and I'll be sure to put a good word in for, Warden."

"24 hour surveillance." He pushed; his eyes squinting. This reminded me of the old western movies.

"In thirty-minute intervals." I argued; he nodded his head in approval.

"Done. Meals-"he continued.

"I eat when they eat."

"Yard time-"

"I do when they go." He nodded his head, seemingly satisfied with the way this was going. I tried to keep my unemotional façade up, but it was getting hard with all the approval that I was getting; it seemed too good to be true.

"One more thing," he added, walking around the desk so that he was now standing in front of me; his eyes ran over my face, almost like her was searching for something; like the key to my mind…why this place? "Why this? Why Fox River?" he must have known something was up; they're were many other prisons that I could have chosen from, hell I could have chosen the one only an half an hour from my home town; go there during the day and then come back home for a hot meal and a shower. Unfortunately…that's now how I worked.

"Lincoln Burrows." I answered carefully, barely above a whisper.

He nodded his head; almost like he understood.

"A follow up report?" he asked almost skeptically.

"I was hoping I could speak with him, about- you know." I trailed off, my eyes adverting towards the ground.

"Afraid not. He's a death row inmate…you won't be around him. Understand?" he seemed genuinely concerned; then it struck me…he should be concerned. If something bad were to happen, he'd loose his job, especially if the governor found out…

"You'll need a back-story." He informed me, I leaned closer to the desk as he pulled out a blank sheet of paper and a file folder, his pen held hard in his hand as he pressed down, shaking his head he let out a large sigh "Four counts of arson, two counts of murder…and one count of aggravated assault with intent to kill." I swallowed hard as I heard the "charges" that were being pinned against me; they seemed a little drastic. "How's that sound?" I smiled and nodded, looking down that scrawl that was written.

"I sound…pretty bad-ass." I laughed.

"Okay. It's settled then." He informed us as he put the pen back in his breast pocket; standing up he pushed himself away from his desk; Mr. Samuels and I followed suit, a smile plastered on my face. I never thought that going to prison could be such a happy feeling. "For the first time ever, a woman is joining the ranks of gen-pop." He paused for a second and placed a hand on my shoulder. "I thought I'd never see the day."

"Thank you, Warden." I genuinely meant every word I said, nodding. "But I do have one more request; a tape recorder, pad, and a piece of paper on me at all times."

"Be discreet." He ordered, steering us towards the office door and opening it, "Miss. Boswell, at anytime that you feel uncomfortable or want to pull the plug on this thing…you let us know; no questions asked." His eyes pleaded with me for my cooperation, I nodded.

"When do I start?"

"Tuesday morning." I was suddenly more aware of my surroundings, my eyes widened with the realization of what was about to happen; about how my life was about to change.

"But-but that's only-"I stammered, not even able to finish by sentence.

"Only a day away," he finished sympathetically, placing a hand on my shoulder. I looked down at the ground and swallowed the lump that had begun in my throat. "So, enjoy it."

My rested on the passenger window, the cold glass taking the edge off of the heat that threatened to burn me from the inside out. I was still trying to process what I had just agreed to, I had just put my life in the hands of well…in the hands of god and luck alone.


	5. Arts & Crafts  Shanks

**A/N: Thank you Millie55 and Imogen-x0x for reviewing :) Written in First Person; I promise…next chapter she'll be in prison!**

**Disclaimer: Nope. Prison Break still isn't mine.**

Relief washed over me as I opened the burgundy curtains that covered the window that was located to the left my bed. The rain had let up; letting the harsh golden rays of the sun was over the already bustling city of Chicago. I watched a few children run down the sidewalk, their mothers hurrying after them as they pushed a stroller or carted a string of groceries along behind them. I smiled, I can't believe I'd never stopped the watch, and actually notice the things that were happening around me. Another woman walked her two dogs, a man followed laughing into his cell phone; I laughed as I watched the dog tangle its self around the fire hydrant at the end of the street. Looking ahead I noticed a few birds chirping in the trees; I furrowed my brows together, my lips pushing into a straight line. How come I'd never noticed those birds before? My heart lurched in my chest, my smile fading just as quickly as it had appeared, glancing back out of the window for a short time, I closed the blinds again; darkness surrounded me. The only light came from the alarm clock on my night stand, the red lights flashing; ten o'clock, I sighed and sat down on the edge of my bed, letting my feet dangle towards the floor. I watched them sway back and forth, back and forth…then I suddenly stopped. I clenched my hands around the bed sheets and looked down at the floor; staring at the lines that cascaded though the faux wooden floor; I was going to prison tomorrow. As of ten o'clock tomorrow morning, I would no longer have a name, I would no longer have an identity…I would be inmate…insert whatever number they give me. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and leaned back onto my bed, my eyelids drifting over my brown hues. I placed hands over my closed eyes and dragged them down my face in one swift motion; sighing.

I hadn't told my mother until last night, and I mean late last night…around one thirty in the morning. I'd intended to call as soon as I got back from the meeting with the pope, but…how do you really tell your mother that you're going to jail? Especially under voluntary circumstances; I'd paced and contemplated for hours on end, running over scenarios in my head over and over again. I still couldn't decide which one was the on I wanted to hear from her. I finally picked up the phone and before I knew it her voice was screaming on the other end; tears, fear, and anger lacing every word; I could barely even get one in. I sat there in the crook of my couch, my Chicago University sweater wrapped tightly around me as I listened to her erratic breathing on the other side; silent tears slipped down my cheeks. The last thing in ever wanted to do was hurt my mother…_Ding dong! Ding dong! Ding dong!_ I quickly jumped up from the bed and rushed out of the bedroom, my bare feet slapping against the cold floor. I furrowed my brows in confusion; no one ever came here this early…not even FedEx.

"Alright! I'm coming!" I hollered hurrying towards the door, barely missing the plant that was positioned to the entrance, my hip grazed the giant bamboo basket it was planted in, the rough leaves brushed against my arm. The door bell continued to ring, piercing my ears with its shrill sound. Rolling my eyes I slumped my shoulders, restraining myself from pulling my hair out; my wits and nerves were already on end…and this wasn't helping. "You can stop-" I began to scold the person behind the annoying sound, opening the door I stopped mid sentence and closed my eyes, trying not to laugh. I should have realized who it was as soon as I looked at the clock. Only one person would bother me at this time of morning.

"Good, you're up!" Emily sounded relieved. I looked over her choice of wardrobe; she was a little too dressed up for it being ten in the morning, and her hair looked…professionally done? My eyes adverted to the bags that she held in each hand. Without another word she rushed in, her heels clicking against the floor as she strode into the small living room, tossing the packages onto the couch.

"Em-why-"I stopped searching for the most polite word I could. "Why are you here?" I stopped once I realized how that sounded; I bit my bottom lip, praying she did take it the wrong way. I wasn't even sure if I wanted to be around anyone today; I'd rather not leave with everyone giving me advice and 'hope you're okay's', and the smack on the back telling me that they'll see me in a week. I wanted this to feel real…

She turned and looked at me with a sympathetic look. I tried to play it off; act like nothing was wrong. Then it struck me…she didn't even know I was headed for the "slammer". Besides, she left early the next day for Mexico. By the time I was out of Fox River she'd be home and writing her article, she'd never even know where I was. Emily raised an eyebrow as I stood awkwardly; my hand rubbing my arm up and down lazily.

"Your mother told me." She divulged. My jaw locked and I looked straight ahead; fingers trembling, mouth dry. It wasn't that I didn't want her to know, well no actually I didn't. She wasn't the best at keeping secrets. She continued to look at me, her eyebrows raised in that 'Don't even try and get out of this one' look. Sighing, I fell back onto the couch.

"Did she tell you last night?" I asked, messaging my temples with one hand and playing with the brown bag that sat next to me with the other; anything to keep my attention way from hers.

"Yeah. She was hysterical," she sighed; taking a seat on the other side of the couch she pushed the bags off and onto the floor, "She wanted me to try and talk you out of it, but-"she laughed and looked up at me, "I told her it was no use."

I sighed and ran a hair though my naturally unruly hair, tearing at the knots that were now embedded in the microscopic curls that seemed to form in my sleep. Shaking my head I bit my lip, thinking of something to say. I already knew the question that was about to seep from her mouth. "You know why I didn't tell you right?" I asked, I continued to look down at the floor. I heard her sigh.

"Yeah," she drawled out, "I'm terrible at keeping secrets." She laughed; I looked up and cracked a small smile before yawning. Using the back of my hand I shielded my mouth before slumping back down into the couch.

"Are you scared?" she suddenly asked; I stopped twirling the piece of black hair around my finger and looked at her. I opened my mouth to answer…but nothing. It wasn't something that I had thought about too much. Was I afraid? Were the little butterflies that I got in my stomach when I thought about being locked up in a cell with someone who probably strangled another person with their bare hands fear, excitement, or an adrenaline rush? Who knew…maybe it was all of them. I shook my head; I was Switzerland.

"Are you?" I probed, I watched as she shrugged her shoulders absent mindedly.

"No," she sighed, "Not-not really. I mean, you'd expect me to be…going to a drug riddled country that was enslave me for the price of a couple pounds of cocaine." I laughed at her analogy; she was always coming up with witty things to say about her topics…but that somehow never made it into her article.

"You should write that." I offered as much encouragement as possible…I mean that's what friends are for right?

She laughed before, smacking her hand down on the couch. She smiled at me; I must have looked dumbfounded by her sudden change in mood. She stood up and grabbed the bags that were sitting on the floor before placing them back onto the couch.

"Go get dressed." She ordered. I furrowed my brows together and looked at her with a confused expression,

"Why-"

"We have a manicure scheduled for twelve." She began to pull me up from the couch, her hand tightening around my wrist as she yanked me towards the bathroom; shoving me towards the shower.

"I don't need a manicure for prison." I hissed, these walls were paper thin, and my neighbors were the nosiest bunch of people I'd ever met in my whole life. She raised her eyebrow and shut the door in my face

"Half and hour!" I heard her call; I rolled my eyes.

The whole spa treatment wasn't as pointless as I made it out to be; maybe I did need to lighten up a little; god knows I'd be stuck in a smelly prison for a week; I'd probably only get one shower, maybe two if they were feeling generous. And my cell mate…I wasn't even prepared to think about that yet. So, I didn't. All thoughts of articles, college, and my impending week of doom and gloom all flew out of the window as I listened to the soothing sounds of bird calls and waterfalls; the smell of bamboo incense filled the room. And the message that my feet were getting was heaven. I hadn't wanted any color on my nails, having to pay extra for something that was just going to be taken off before I was let into the…wait; I wasn't supposed to be thinking about that place right now. I shook it off and closed my eyes as the other woman applied the cucumber treatment to my eyes, coving them with the vegetables she walked away as the woman began to work on my other foot. It was too quite in the room; my mind drifted. What would the prison look like? Who would I be put in a cell with? Would I have heard of that person? Too many things filled my head when I was able to think, and I could feel my heart beat rising.

What was supposed to be an hour manicure turned into a four hour plus spa treatment; I slipped my light sweater on and followed Emily out of the small boutique that was in the heart of Chicago. We had to meet my mother for dinner in just a few minutes; and the restaurant wasn't that far away. A chill ran up my back as the wind began to pick up, the sky was overcast again….well at least I got to see the sun one last time. I couldn't help but laugh at how negative I was becoming; it's not like I was going to be there forever.

"I can't believe you're doing this." My mother scolded as the waiter set the plate of food in front of her; fish and chips…well wasn't this a classy place? The male cast a look in my mothers direction before accompanying her food with a small bowel of tartar sauce; I cock my head to the side and looked at her with wide eyes, giving her that classic 'mom, shut up' look that every daughter gives their mother once and a while; she rolled her eyes and smiled politely at the waiter as he began to set our food out in front of us. The smell of pepperoni pizza and breadsticks filled my nose as he set his food down in front of me; what? It was my "last meal". I could see Emily's mouth practically water as they seat down her plate of chicken tenders in front of her, the steam rising into the air. Taking a sit from the glass cup of soda I sighed.

"Mom-"

"What possessed you to want to do this?" she hissed again, cutting up her fish; people in the restaurant were starting to notice her erratic behavior. The way she was cutting up her food…it was a wonder how she wasn't in prison; she did it with such ease, the knife slicing into the cooked flesh. I gulped.

"Mom!" I raised my voice; her fork and knife clattered back onto her plate, her mouth half full of food as she looked at me, sighing out heavily. Emily continued to silently eat, her eyes shifting from me to my mother and then back again.

"What?" she asked calmly. I smiled sympathetically; I knew she wanted me to do this, she knew why I had to do this. I reached across the table and grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight as I talked in a low voice.

"It's only a week," I said calmly, rubbing my thumb over her hand as she held mine tighter; I just knew the water works were coming "Just-just think of it as me going off to camp; like I did in middle school." My mom rolled her eyes, and gave an exasperated laugh.

"Oh right," she said sarcastically, "A camp filled with murders, rapists, and felons. And for arts and crafts you'll learn how to make a shank from a tooth brush." She scoffed, shoving a piece of fish into her mouth. Both Emily and I couldn't contain our giggles; my mother had a way of being funny at the unlikeliest times.

"Oh come on." I took a bite of my pizza; "Be supportive. At least I'm not going to Mexico to be among the drug cartels." I nudged Emily in her side; she looked at me appalled as she dropped the chicken tender back onto her plate

"It's a lot safer than being stuck in a cell with one." She retorted, "If I get attacked, I actually have somewhere to run…you," she pointed a finger at me; "You'll be stuck in a locked up cage." The look on my mother's face was priceless; her mouth hung open and her chest rose and fell quickly. I looked at Emily, and nodded my head quickly, gesturing towards my mother.

"Way ta' go." I mumbled, Emily raised her shoulders and looked at me, shrugging.

"Sorry." She mumbled.

"Mom, I'm going to be fine. You don't have to worry." I reassured her; she looked up at me, tears already beginning to leak from her eyes.

"That's the same thing your father said."

I set the piece of pizza down on the plate; our table was silent. Nobody moved nobody talked; I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked up from my food after a moment. Emily was looking around the table, her eyes hung low as we watched my mother get up from the table.

"I'm ready for the check." She threw her napkin down onto the middle of her plate and began to walk towards the front counter, digging into her purse on the way there. I shook my head, trying to keep the tears at bay. It had happened almost seventeen years ago…Emily was the next to stand up, placing a hand on my shoulder she gave it a reassuring squeeze; I looked up at her, tears filling my yes.

"Your dad would be proud you, you know that right?" I nodded, he would be…he is.


	6. Welcome to Fox River

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews guys! (Especially Millie55!). Well, now the real story beings; she is finally in prison!**

**Disclaimer: Nope. Prison Break still isn't mine…but you guys can keep your fingers crossed for me :)**

I opened my eyes, the bright fluorescent lights of the prison bathroom shone brightly. The knock on the door is what startled me; it echoed off the silent white walls. I jumped, gripping the edges of the sink with both hands, knuckles turning while as I took in a shallow breath. Another knock was issued; it sounded rushed and concerned. I could hear footsteps and the sound of keys jingling.

"Miss. Boswell?" I watched as the door knob turned, lucky for me I had locked it. It turned again, this time more forcefully than before. "Miss. Boswell? Is everything alright in there?" Officer Bellick's urgent voice sounded muffled by the almost sound resistant doors. I shook my head, and took a deep breath; knowing he couldn't see how scared I actually was.

"Yes, Officer, I'm okay." I answered, my voice trembling. I took another deep breath and swallowed the lump that had begun to form in my throat. I heard him grunt in reply and then hit the face of the door.

"Well hurry it up in there."

Reaching a trembling hand into the box of wet wipes that were sitting on the edge of the sink I pulled out two moist towels; admiring the stitching that was engraved in them. I'd never understood why the manufactures even bothered to put things like that on stuff, toilet paper for example, do people really look at it before they, ya know, use it? I closed my eyes and brought the towel up to my face, it felt cold against my hot and clammy skin as I wiped the entire length from my forehead to my neck; removing all traces of cover up and the mascara that I had applied only an hour ago, why I had even bothered to pretty myself up in the first place was beyond me. I did the same with the other side of my face until it was all gone. I felt naked, exposed. My eyes had black bags that hung like clouds on a snowy day, and my skin was dotted here and there with the occasional acne scars…but they were barely noticeable.

I dropped the towels into the trashcan before I turned towards the toilet. My heart began to pound in my ears; my stomach did flips and turns. Shuffling towards the white porcelain seat I picked up the clothes that were folded neatly on top, it was the standard issue prison uniform; white shirt, navy blue pants, and a black work boots. I was now one of the crowd; the only thing that would distinguish me from the guards was their badge. I slipped off my old clothes and stuffed them into the box that Bellick had given me before I entered the room; unzipping the small plastic bag I removed my earrings and dropped them into the bin. Once I was dressed I looked at myself; even though I could only see from the chest up, I took a deep breath and pulled my hair into a messy bun.

"Bout' time." I heard Bellick mutter as I opened the bathroom door, holding out the bucket for him. He handed the clear bin over to another officer who began to walk away with it. "You got everything?" he motioned to my pockets; they had extended the pockets on the pants so I could walk around with a few objects without anyone noticing, courtesy of Becky's amazing sewing skills. I nodded and took a deep breath. Officer Bellick smirked and reached behind his back, I grew more nervous by the second. When his hand reappeared his raised his eyebrows and jerked his head; in his hands he held a pair of hand cuffs. Not the play plastic ones that you used to play cops and robbers with either.

"Got a present for ya." I just glanced up at him with glazed eyes; I didn't know how to respond to anything that was happening. "Alright, hold you wrists out."

I complied with his order, wincing as the cold metal locked around my flesh causing a shiver to run up my spine. I looked down at the metal that encased my wrists, and the chain link that kept them so close together; it was such an emotional thing. It meant I wasn't free anymore. A moment later Bellick was steering me towards the door, the black boots were a little too small, and their soles were heavy; causing me a great deal of trouble while I was trying to walk. One of his hands wrapped around my upper arm like I was a child, steering me this way and that way, through various corridors and hallways.

"What possessed a well off woman like you to want these scumbags as company?" he asked, keeping his eyes and body straight ahead; the stern and menacing look still covered his features; everything about him was unhappy, from the way he walked, to the way he talked…he was negative.

"It's going to make for a great article, Officer Bellick." I answered, keeping my eyes straight ahead as well; if I wanted to lie low for the next week I'd have to ask as hostile to the guards just like any other prisoner had. I heard him chuckle lowly just before he pulled on my arm, yanking me to a stop in front of a large door.

"You got a lot of ambition?" he seemed to question more than observe, "Don't you move." He added sternly as he wrapped on the glass with his knuckles; I could faintly make out the outlines of several people bustling about the room.

"Yes sir." I smirked, quickly hiding it as the door opened; I half expected it to be a cell, for some odd reasons…don't ask me why. Another officer stood on the other side; a bewildered look covered his face as he observed the two people standing in front of them. His weathered features seemed a mix of confusion and shock more than anything. Bellick raised his eyebrow and gripped my arm tightly before dragging me into the room along with the other officer. I glanced around; it was just like all the other rooms, bright white, desks, and chairs. When I looked to the left of me I knew exactly where I was; well, I didn't know the proper name but it was the place where you got your "mug shots" taken, almost like at the MVA when you get your license. My attention adverted back to the two officers as Bellick turned me to face them again; he unlocked my handcuffs and pointed to the wall.

"Stand against the wall. Face straight ahead." I did as told and stood against the wall which measured your height, I glanced upward; seeing that I only reached the five foot mark. Bellick crossed his arms over his chest and tapped his foot impatiently as he watched the other officer hand me the black board, I quickly glanced at it. 'Fox River Penitentiary; Boswell. M, Erica.' It read in shining white lettering. Yeah, defiantly not where I saw myself after high school… "And don't say cheese."

Before I knew it the camera had flashed, catching every emotion that was running though my eyes at that moment. I blinked, "Now turn." Bellick's voice boomed, I turned to the left only showing my side, the light flashed, and I turned again, this time to the right. Everything happened so fast, before I knew it the cuffs were back around my wrists and Bellick was dragging me towards the door.

"Welcome to Fox River," he paused, "the happiest place on earth." I glanced up at him as he laughed; somehow, I doubted that this was true.

I hadn't noticed that he was leading me to the infirmary until we had reached the door; I glanced in. Seeing gurney's filled with patients. When the door knob turned, everyone in the room looked; all of them men. I suddenly felt vulnerable was Bellick led me into the room. All of their eyes were on me; traveling over my body…I didn't even want to know what they may have been imaging at that moment. I tried to stay as calm as possible keeping my sights set on the door that he was leading me towards.

"Hey, yo, Bellick!" I heard one inmate whistle; his voice was deep and nasty, "Is that for me?" a few of the other men lying around chuckled, some whistled.

"Shut it." Bellick ordered; but this voice still traveled in my head. That one line, that one innocent line…was going to be something that I never forgot. We stopped at a door that was on the other side of the room; the examination room is what it looked liked. I was surprised to see a woman walking around in the room. Bellick wrapped his knuckles on the glass once again, the woman's head snapped around; a surprised expression covered her face as she strode towards the door.

"Hey doc." He greeted as she opened the door; she was a rather all woman, with red hair and calm features; she seemed approachable enough.

"Hello Officer Bellick. What can I- Oh wow." she stopped mid sentence as she noticed me; her eyes immediately adverting towards the handcuffs that held me in place. A concerned look spread across her features as she glanced back up at Bellick, cocking her head to the side. He shrugged as if he didn't know anything and proceeded in taking the cuffs off.

"You got ten minutes." He ordered sternly as he turned, to walk towards the other set of doors, leaving me along with the doctor, inmates, and any other CO that was on duty in that room.

"Well, this is-um," she stumbled over her words as she led me into the exam room, closing the door behind her. She glanced back at me as I stood awkwardly by the door, and looking around the room. I was deep in thought when the rattling of her file cabinet got my attention. "This is-"she gestured towards me again.

"I'm not really in," I paused using I and prison in the same sentence was unnatural to me, "prison." I finished. She nodded, seeming to understand something that I didn't know before she beckoned me towards the small exam table.

"You're the reporter." She stated, opening the manila folder and removing some papers from the inside, she glanced up as me as I sat down on the small table, my feet hanging over the edge.

"Journalist." I corrected, letting a small smile grace my face. She was easy to talk to, it seemed. She wasn't stand offish or rude like the other guards had been.

"Right, well, then lest get you started then." She nodded and clicked the top of her pen, letting the ballpoint emerge from its hiding place. "First off," she placed the monitor on my arm to check my blood pressure, "My name is Dr. Tancredi." She introduced herself.

"Like the-"I began to connect the dots; squinting my eyes as she removed the device and wrote my blood pressure down on her sheet that was placed in her lap.

"Yes, like the governor." She smiled, but, it wasn't a happy smile. It was a forced smile; you know the kind of smile people give you when they're trying to be polite. "So, what made you want to choose Fox River?" she probed, reading through my files again before she looked up awaiting my answer.

"It's a long story." Once I had finished explaining my situation I let out an exasperated sigh and watched as she reopened the file, flipping though the papers she halted on a blank medical form.

"Wow. You seem quite sure of yourself." She observed, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I guess I'm pretty confident. I mean it's only a week." I explained, she looked up at me with one of the most worried expressions I'd ever seen. It was scolding, but in a weird kind of way it was; it was almost like she was worried for me.

"A lot can happen in a week." She informed me; like I didn't know that already "Any allergies?" she asked quickly.

"You sound like my mother." I sighed "Chocolate, dairy products, and peanuts." I answered glancing up at the clock as it ticked back and forth.

"Any other medical treatments?"

"I have asthma." She jotted something down on her paper and continued to scribble words and numbers in the various boxes and indicated slots.

"Well, you'll need to come here befor every meal to get a lactate pill." I nodded, "Any thing else I can do Miss. Boswell?" I thought for a moment, my hand brushed over the supplies in my pocket and I smiled.

"Yeah, actually um, would you mind being interviewed? I mean, it'd be great to get a woman's perspective on working here." I asked, standing up from the exam table and straightening my clothes out. She smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, that'd be great. Um, we can conduct them when you come in for your pills, how's that sound?" I nodded in agreement, just as the door opened. Both of us looked up towards the door.

"Sara, Scofields' here." The woman peeked her head in and gave me a surprised smile before adverting her gaze to Sara and raising her eyebrows with a shrug.

"Thanks, Kathy." And the woman left, I looked though the window as I noticed Bellick coming back into the room another prisoner in his grasp. "Look, just." Dr. Tancredi let out a sigh, I turned my gaze away from the door and looked back at her "Just- be careful alright. Even if you think you know someone…you don't." she advised, her eyes held a since of passion for some reason; the door opened.

Both of us turned to acknowledge the two men that had just come into the room. My breath hitched in my throat, and my mouth became as dry as the Sahara Desert. I remembered the man that was standing in front of me; Bellick's eyes burning holes in him as he roughly undid his handcuffs and motioned for the other officers to stand by the door. I didn't mean to stare so much; he must have gotten the feeling that someone was watching him other than the officers and the doctor. His gaze adverted to me, the look in his eyes was almost, surprise…but their was something else, something raw and not forced. Fear, I saw it flash through his eyes, even if it was for a quick second.

"Boswell. Stop staring and get over here; you too Scofield." I trudged over them and looked down at the floor as Bellick placed the cuffs around my wrists for the third time that day. I felt nervous around this guy, but not the he's going to kill me nervous, but the…he knows something nervous; the same feeling I got when h saw him the first time in the warden's office. He was stupid…

"You shouldn't be in here." I heard him mumble, I looked up at him. A surprised expression covering my face as I studied him; he didn't fit the stereotype. His face was kind and emotionless, his eyes sparkling.

"Pardon me?" I asked, his lips formed a straight line as Bellick grabbed him by the sleeve of his shirt.

"What'd you say?" he asked; it sounded more like a threat than anything. I watched the scene unfold, his blue eyes flashed to me, I felt uncomfortable under his gaze. He was studying me…

"I said she shouldn't be here." He repeated softening his features; I looked away adverting my gaze towards the door as Bellick roughly grabbed my arm.

"That's none of your concern Scofield, besides, she was just leavin'." Bellick spat, forcefully pulling me towards the door that led to the exit of the infirmary. I tripped over my feet several times as I struggled to keep up with him. I stole a glance back in the direction of the exam room; whoever that guys was he was still watching us…watching me.


	7. Rocky

**A/N: Millie55 thank you for reviewing! This chapter contains elements of "Allen". **

**Disclaimed: Nope…still no Prison Break for me.**

**Warning: Contains racial slurs. I apologize.**

Bellick's grip tightened on my arm as we exited the infirmary, the white walls enclosing around us again, the sound of heels clicking against the tiled floors rang though the silent corridor. I sucked a harsh breath in though my teeth as I felt his nails digging into my skin; giving my arm another jerk we rounded the corner; faint calls and yells filled the air that separated us and the door. I continued to look straight ahead, everything seeming to move in slow motion. Every step I took beat my heart made seemed to move slowly; I exhaled, trying to keep my legs and hands from trembling.

"Ya know," Bellick rescued me from my trance; I could hear a smirk in his voice. "You must have men lining up at your door." I furrowed my brow together in confusion, but kept silent, my lips pushing together in a straight line as we neared the door; the yells getting louder. "Am I right?" I didn't answer; if this was one of his attempts to be friendly he wasn't doing much of a good job, he sounded sleazy and perverted; something I defiantly wasn't into. We abruptly stopped my neck jarring forward as he planted his feet firmly on the floor; my head snapped around and looked at him almost inquiring if he had gone mad.

"You hear me talking to you?" he got close to my face, his hot breath tickling my face as he spoke, I wanted to recoil in disgust; but I stood motionless, transfixed, my eyes trailed down to the various items that were attached to his belt. A gun, wand, tazer, pepper spray; I'd be dead or at least close to it before I could do anything to stop him. I nodded my head; it was true, I'd had plenty of offers to date and mingle around town; several of them in the same field as I was some in other ones. I always turned them down though, and it wasn't because I wasn't interested; I was too caught up with college and finally making it big in the industry.

"No." I lied; he smirked and rocked back on his heels, gripping my arm again. We began to move towards the doors again; the yelling was louder now. I had almost forgotten all about it because of Bellick's inappropriate way of saying that I was pretty. I heard him grunt as he stopped at the door, a buzzing sound filled the room, and the locks clicked open.

"Then uh,-"he began, pushing the heavy door open. The yelling filled the room now, the sound of hundreds of people yelling and screeching at each other, echoing off the concrete walls, "You wouldn't mind, after this little charade is done," he pulled me though the door; my eyes widened in fear. Prison wasn't what I expected it to be. On television they always portray it to be somewhat descent; clean cells, lights, quite…this wasn't it. Prisoners hung their arms out of their cells, waving them and the occasional bird was flipped to a prisoner that was on the other side of the vast room. "Joining me for a nice dinner." I craned my neck to the side and starred blankly at the CO; he starred back, a smirk lining his features. Was he serious? His expression never changed, I couldn't believe he was actually waiting for me to answer that question. I'm about to be thrown to the dogs…and all he's thinking about is if he can get with me after I get out…if I make it out. I shook my head cautiously, biting my bottom lip.

"No. I'm sorry, Officer." His smirk fell and was replaced with a look of disgust and rage. His eyes narrowed and the grip he had on my arm tightened to the point that I just knew there was going to be a nice bruise tomorrow morning. "I-I can't."

He huffed in anger and pushed me harshly towards the steps that descended into the center of the vast room; cat calls echoed though the air, various items rained down on us. I flinched as a few pieces of paper and metal objects were hurled at my head. My eyes were wide as I looked around, watching the cons go wild; I was truly afraid. I looked to the right and left of me, only to see the same thing happening, hands were beckoning to me from the bars of the cells, blowing kisses and puckering lips, rude gestures…you name it, they probably did it. Bellick stopped again this time instead of a door it was a pair of iron bars. I took a deep breath…it was time for the moment of truth. Raising his voice above the ruckus he yelled towards the CO room. "Open on 81!" a buzzing sound filled the room, accompanying the shrewd sound of the cons as they rattled their bars like animals at the zoo.

A man walked towards us as the cell doors slid open, my heart beat against my chest so hard that I could feel it vibrating in my throat. It was hard to see what he looked like as he walked closer, stopping at the front of the bunk beds that were positioned to the right. His left arm rested on the top of the bunk closest to the ceiling as she looked me up and down, but it wasn't a perverted look…just an observing one. His hair was grayed and slicked back with what looked like, gel or grease it was too hard to tell in this light. His eyes were a dull blue, his lips thin, and his face weathered with age, and most likely stress.

"So this is what all the ruckus is about." He observed, smiling. His right had gestured towards me as Bellick began to move me closer to the cell, his gripped loosening once I was inside the cell.

"Move back Rocky." Bellick spat; he must not be used to being shot down too much, or maybe he was too used to it. The man, "Rocky" held up his hands in defense and stepped back, his booths clicking against the concrete floor as he leaned against the small table that was positioned near the sink, his arms crossing over his chest. Once Bellick had unlocked my handcuffs, and quite roughly I might add, he walked out of the cell, glaring at me before he turned his head to the side facing the CO room again.

"Close on 81!" I flinched as the cell door slid closed. The realization finally began to set in as I heard the foot steps approaching me from behind, my breathing became shallow as I felt a hand clasp my shoulder; I spun around. My eyes wide in fear; the man, Rocky, laughed and sat down on the bottom bunk of the bed, the metal frame creaking.

"Whoa. Take it easy there." He chuckled, his voice deep and throaty, I continued to stare at him. Fearing that any move I made would result in some catastrophic outcome, his rubbed his hands together before thrusting it out towards me in a slow and cautious manner.

"Jesse Rockwell." He introduced himself; I slipped my hand from my pocket, my finger hitting the small tape recorder; my investigation was now in full swing. Taking a deep breath I cautiously moved forward, my hand enveloping his in a weak handshake. I half expected his hand to be calloused and rough; but it was smooth, even smoother than mine. I just needed to relax. He raised his eyebrows and motioned his head towards me slowly, "and you are…" he drawled out slowly

"Boswell. Erica Boswell." I answered quickly, withdrawing my hand from his grip. He nodded, almost like he was approving of my choice of a name.

"Well, Boswell, you can have the top bunk, that sound good?" he asked, pointing to the top. I nodded and took a step back, standing up on the tips of my toes I glanced onto the bed; it was much. I took a mental note of my cell, repeating everything in my head several times as I listened to the sounds of the jeering prisoners. The sheets were white, the blanket was blue, and the pillow didn't even look half as comfortable as the ones that they give you at those cheap road side motels. It was time to start my investigation; mustering up all the strength and wits that I could I turned towards Jesse, only to find his sitting at the small desk that was positioned at the back of the cell, he was bent over something, I peeked my head around his broad shoulders slightly to try and see the object that he was so intently working on. Then I heard the scraping against the wall; my eyes widened in fear and I gulped. "Don' worry this ain't for you." His voice drawled out slowly, almost in a whisper.

Not understanding where my outburst of courage came from; journalists tend to have those sometimes, I walked towards him stopping at his side as I watched his sharpen the tool on the side of the wall. The tip was already sharp enough to cut though bone, and the side that was supposed to be blunt was riddled with small groves that were just as sharp. He looked up at me and smiled. "You can never be too careful in this place, ya know?"

I nodded understandingly as I sat down on the edge of the bottom bunk, my hands placed neatly in my lap, my neck turned and glanced out at all of the other cells. The outside was brightly illuminated so you could see directly into the cells across from yours, my eyes wandered over the bars; some were covered up with sheets and others were empty, the prisoners looked bored as they went though their normal routine. My eyes stopped on a cell that was up higher on the second level. A man stood there, his arms hanging out of the cell like he was waiting to grab someone when they walked by…but he looked familiar. When he shifted his body to the other side I could see exactly who it was; Scofield. I quickly adverted my gaze and looked down at the sheets that I was sitting on. What was this guy's problem? I didn't understand it; obviously I was going to be the object of most men's attention since I was the only woman here…but it didn't justify the way he watched me. It was too…protective in a sense. "You look like you wanna ask a question." Jesse's rough voice tore me away from my thoughts; he was staring at me, his eyes emotionless and bored. The scraping on the wall had stopped, and I watched carefully as his hands reached down into the waist band of his blue prison pants, the shank disappearing.

"Umm. Yeah." I struggled with my words as I glanced around the cell, "It's probably not appropriate to ask-"

"Just spit it out. We're in prison; our dirty laundry is eventually gonna get out one way or another." He chuckled, turning around in the chair so he was facing me. I smiled slowly; for some reason, I felt comfortable…and not so much afraid.

"What are you in for?" I asked, I mean, they always asked this question on television right? He looked at me with a blank expression before sitting back in the chair more. It was almost as if I was to have supposed to have known it before hand.

"You haven't heard?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. My eyes shifted to the left before they rested back on him, my legs crossing Indian style as I brought them onto the bed with the rest of my body, I shook my head. The ran a hand over his face before resting his elbow on his knee and looking at me, "Now, I don't wanna scare ya, but-" I swallowed…maybe this wasn't such a good idea, maybe I really didn't want to know what he had done to be put in a maximum security jail.

"I've killed a few people," he continued shrugging; his features calm and collected as he leaned in on his elbows. "Strangled some," his eyes rolled towards the ceiling like he was trying to remember all of the ways that he had killed these innocent people; my stomach turned inside out. "Stabbed, gutted…" My blood ran cold as he trailed off, shaking his head.

"What about you? You steal-"he began to chuckle, "You steal Girl Scout cookies or something? A Barbie maybe…" he trailed off as he began to laugh as his own senseless joke. I smiled, playing along.

"No," I chuckled nervously. "No, nothing big just a few homicides," I shrugged, trying to be as collected as possible, "arson…assault." I trailed off shrugging. He looked at me, his head jerking back slightly at the atrocities that I had committed against society; he almost seemed impressed.

"Woo-wee." He slapped his hands down on his knees and bit this bottom lip, his hands shaking slightly; I furrowed my brow as his fingers began to tap against his knees. Something didn't feel right…"Got an uh- got a regular bad-ass on my hands, huh?" he laughed. I tried to keep up with this sick game of memory that he had started, "bet you were the last person they ever expected." He continued to laugh as he slapped a hand down on my knee before quickly withdrawing it. I couldn't help but feel that something about him was unstable…

"Yeah," I answered, my voice shaking. "You uh-you should have seen the judge's face." I continued, shrugging my shoulders and raising my hands. "Surprise." I squealed quietly; he was unnervingly silent as he watched me. His hands ran over his chapped lips slowly before he licked them.

"I haven't killed someone in a long while." He mumbled his eyes staring straight at me. My breath caught in my chest; obviously when the warden put me in a cell with the, and I quote, 'the safest prisoner here', didn't know that they're so underlying psychological issues at work. The look in his eyes was manic, bulging any bit of comfort that I felt around him was quickly fading away. "How'd it feel" he suddenly asked, I shrugged closing my eyes…I wasn't prepared to answer any of this.

"When I did it," he shook his head, a twisted smile gracing his lips, "It felt, it felt good." He sighed, I continued to stare at him; swallowing the lump in my throat as I looked up at the ceiling.

"Alright cons, line up!" with that the cell doors opened; hundreds of inmates pouring out of their cells in a straight line, but it didn't stop the staring contest Jesse and I were having at the moment; it wasn't until he ripped his gaze away from mine that I released the breath that I had been holding. I slowly followed him out of the cell; _you can do this, just relax._

_I'm sitting on the bleachers. The yard where inmates spend an hour of their day is quite large; large enough to run a few laps around the perimeter and still loose a couple pounds. I'm here alone, and I've noticed that the yard is considerably segregated. No one has bothered since I've come out here. _

My voice was quite as I held the small tape recorder in my hands, holding it close to my mouth as I observed my surroundings; it was okay if the inmates thought I was talking to myself, at least I wouldn't have to worry about them bothering me. I continued to take in my surroundings, taking in every scuffle that broke out, every tree that was planted, every shrub that was being trimmed…every inmate that walked past me got a narration. I looked across the yard; my hand falling from in front of my mouth as I placed the tape recorder back into my pocket slowly. Scofield sat on the other side of a small wooden table, his back hunched as he moved a piece on what seemed to be a board game of some sort, I'm pretty sure it wasn't Candyland. My lips pressed in a thin line as I watched the two exchange looks every now and then, the older gentlemen reached down and began to pet the animal that was sitting in his lap; I laughed, that's one thing I didn't expect to see here. I was pretty relieved when I realized the Scofield wasn't watching me. When he looked at me I felt as if he knew what was going on, if he knew…he could use that against me and get anything he wanted. All relief washed away when his head turned from the current direction he was looking in, those unemotional blue eyes staring at me from afar; but this time…they seemed worried.

"Well, lookie' here." I slowly turned my head in the direction that the slimy voice had come from; his accent was thick and haunting. "Looks like we got a long lost puppy here boys." The man stopped short of two feet away from me. His eyes dragging up and down my body as I observed the crowed he kept. They all looked like bad news…especially him. His hair was disheveled and messy, his eyes beady and menacing; his lips twitched in a sickening way, his tongue darting out between his lips as he licked the thin lies, biting his bottom lips slowly. I watched as the young boy standing next to him shifted his weight to his other foot, jerking his head towards me; I furrowed my brows together in confusion as I looked down towards the mans pocket the interior lining pulled out, his fingers wrapped around it tightly.

"Hi." I answered, for some reason I couldn't look away from this one. He looked sneaky; if I turned my back on him for one second I was that something would happen. He looked taken back by my answer as he looked around at all of the men that surrounded him.

"Woo-wee. We gotta live one here boys." He smiled wickedly, when he walked forward the young man holding onto his pocket followed in toe, his chin held high like it was a privilege to be in his position. The man rested his foot on the edge of the bleacher and put a hand on my knee, moving it up my leg. I stiffened at his touch and my eyes grew wide at the slimy feeling that rose in my stomach; the younger man glared at me, placing a hand on the older mans shoulder. He shrugged him off, giving my leg a squeeze. "But not for long if you uh- don't have anyone that's got ya back." He informed me, his voice low as he leaned in. His movements were slow and deliberate as he looked around; my eyes adverted to his hand that still rested on my leg… I was too afraid to move. "And let me tell you," he bit his bottom lip slowly as his eyes trailed over my body again, sucking on his bottom lip he replied with a wishful sigh, " I've got ya back, all you gotta do." He smacked the younger man's hand away, "is hold my pocket."

I cocked my head to the side and moved my leg so that his hand fell away, he looked at me with a disgusted looked, before swatting the younger mans hand away once again. I wasn't familiar with this 'hold my pocket' term, but, if it was anything like what that poor boy was doing at this moment…I didn't want to do it. "Excuse me?" I asked, hoping he would explain this concept to me.

"You heard me jus' fine, sweetpea." He growled, his voice stern and accusing, "Hold my pocket, and I ain't gonna let nothin happen to ya." The offer was tempting; but I think I'd pretty much figured out what the price of admission was.

"I'm- I don't know what that means." I played stupid, moving to get up from the metal seats. His hand grabbed my arm, pulling me back down onto the bleachers as he leaned in closer to me.

"Well, why don't ya tug on it and find out." My eyes slowly looked around the yard, trying to spot a guard that was actually paying attention to these people. That was one thing I'd noticed…the guards didn't pay enough mind to these people to know what they were up too. I knew this situation wasn't going to end well, especially if Scofield over there got involved. I caught a brief glance at him as I turned back towards the man that was trying to persuade me to be his, and I hate this word, prison bitch.

"Looks like someone already beat me to it." I spat, gesturing towards the boy that was hanging on his left side.

"Well now sweetpea, I got two pockets." His southern accent shone though as he got frustrated, I continued to stare at him. He wasn't going to give up.

"No, thanks." I ignored the collective moans of defeat as I began to get up from the bleachers; I had almost made it way from the side of them when I felt a hand grab my arm. Turning around in his grasp he shoved me up against the bleachers, the metal digging into my back as I winced in pain, my bottom lip trembled in fear as I looked up into his face. His bit his bottom lip as he held me in place, his eyes dragging, one again, over my body, landing on my chest as it rose and fell with the worst anticipation.

"Oh, but, Sweetpea. I wasn't asking." He smirked, moving closer so that our bodies almost touched; I closed my eyes and moved my head to the side so I wouldn't have to look at him. Why wasn't anyone doing anything? Then I remembered…my tape recorder was on. I was getting all of this on raw tape. "Now, you may be a woman and all," he sighed, I watched him from the corner of my eye as his eyes traveled over my face "And we all know how society frowns upon woman beaters." He paused and chuckled softly, "But in here, you're a man. A man like everybody else," his grip on my arms began to release slowly; I looked to my right, my eyes adverting to the figure whose legs were carrying him fast across the length of the yard. Maybe having Scofield around wasn't such a bad idea…

"Now, you're a pretty little rughead; you don't come across many of them." He voice sent shivers up my spine as he breathed out, fantasizing no doubt.

"Excuse me?" I whipped my head around to face him, offended.

"Ya know, negro, black, tar baby." He just knew every name in the book, "Even though you one of them; they ain't gonna be there for ya." His voice lowered. I furrowed my brow, confused…be there for what? What was going on? I looked my right again, what was taking him so long…

"But I can be-"the man grabbed my wrist and held my hand up "all you gotta do is-"

"Hey! T-Bag, They're a problem over here?" I half expected it to be Scofield, but when I turned around I saw a badge, standing on the other side of the fence. His hand placed on the holster that was attached to his side; I sighed in relief, and in disappointment. Glancing to my side I saw him, standing in the middle of the yard, his chest rising and falling heavily; maybe he didn't want to help me.

The man quickly shoved me away. I stumbled but regained my posture quickly, straightening my close out. "No problems boss. Just getting acquainted with the news fish." With the flick of his wrist he and his group stalked off; but not without him glaring back at me as he strode towards the front of the yard.

"You alright?" the CO asked. I nodded, looking up towards the middle of the yard again; Scofield stood with his hands in his pockets, taking headily to another man, I watched him carefully. Nothing made sense, he was…he was confusing me.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I answered. Scofield looked up from the man he was talking to and glancing over in my direction, he closed his eyes for a brief second; he seemed upset for some reason, like he regretted something. I tore my gaze away from him and looked back at the CO. "Who was that guy?"

He snorted in response. "Theodore Bagwell. Raped and killed six kids up in Alabama." I turned and looked at him wide eyes with disgust, before shaking my head. How was I going to last six more days in this place? The buzzer rang signaling that yard time was over. I walked slowly deep in thought as I straggled behind the rest of the inmates, I stopped for a brief second…there stood Scofield by the wooden picnic table, looking at me…like he was waiting.

_Only one day in this place and I've already managed to make enemies with the infamous pedophile, Theodore Bagwell, or T-Bag as he's known in prison; and there's a man, the last name Scofield; it seems like he's giving himself the role of keeping an eye on me, Six more days. _

"Lights out cons!"


	8. Shank it up!

**A/N: Thank you to Millie55 for her amazing reviews and encouragement :) I have yet to beat her at an update! Contains elements of "Allen"**

**Disclaimer: Prison Break? No, it's not mine.**

The sound was so unfamiliar to me. I awakened with a start at the sound of metal rattling, the clanking sound filling my mind; my eyes opened rather quickly, staring at the concrete ceiling overhead. I sighed out heavily; I had half wondered if all this was a dream when I went to bed last night…maybe the last couple of days had been a dream. The whole meeting with the warden, meeting Jesse…Scofield…maybe it was all a figment of my imagination. But that certainly wasn't the case; I could hear the bed under mine creak as Jesse stood up from the mattress, his bones cracking as he stretched. Rubbing a hand down my face I reached up and redid the ever trendy hairstyle of the messy bun that sat atop my head, rubbing the sleep from my yes I sat up so that my feet dangled over the edge of the top bunk. The pain in my shoulder was unbearable; gritting my teeth I reached across my chest and began to message my left shoulder, letting out a painful sigh. This was defiantly something that was going into this article, I had in no way intended to talk down about Fox River's living qualities…but this was just inhumane to have someone, even someone who had probably murdered a few people, sleep on something so uncomfortable, it was a health risk. No sooner had the prisoners been up and walking around their cells did the buzzer ring, the cell doors sliding open slowly. I took a deep breath and jumped down from the top bunk, my sock clad feet still too cold for my liking. I cautiously felt my pockets, making sure that everything was still accounted for.

"Don't worry, you'll get used to it soon enough." Jesse groaned as he cracked his back, sighing in a mix of pain and relief before plopping down onto the chair by the small desk and lacing up his shoes. I looked at him and yawned before sitting down on his portion of the bunk and lacing up my shoes as well, sucking in air though my teeth I sat there for a moment, my face contorting in pain.

"You sure about that?" I groaned, my hand finding its way to the small ob my back as I rubbed the store spot. Jesse's hardy laugh filled the cell as he stood up from his place, and straightened out his pants before walking towards the door.

"Trust me." I raised my eyebrows at his choice of words as soon as he was out of ear shot. Standing up from the bed I limped a little, holding my back. I sure hoped he was right. _Trust me_. I looked around the vast space as I stood leaning against the opened cell doors; everyone seemed to have their cliques. I mean, there was the obvious: black and whites, but they're seemed to be a subcategory of all sorts. I glanced around the room again, ignoring the few stares that were coming my way; especially the ones from the beady eyes that were positioned in the empty space that his cell door once accompanied, my stomach involuntarily twisted in disgust as he licked his lips, dragging his stained teeth over his bottom lip; like he was a catch. I looked away, my eyes glancing upwards at the row of cells that lined the second level. And there he stood, his blue eyes gazing down at me, his hands gripping the railing, his back hunched over; his eyes adverted to T-Bag momentarily, disgust flashed though his eyes as his face contorted in a grimace, before he looked back at me. I looked away, my face feeling hot.

"Boswell!" I quickly peaked my head around the corner at the masculine voice that seemed to carry on for miles and miles. I refrained from rolling my eyes as Officer Bellick approached me, his hands swaying down by his side; a pair of hand cuffs twirling around his finger. I steeped out from my cell and glanced upwards once again, I wouldn't admit it to myself…but I was slightly disappointed when I didn't see Scofield standing there. "Time for your meds." I nodded and allowed him to capture my hands in the cold metal before leading me off towards the infirmary.

I watched as Dr. Tancredi waltzed across the room, her heels clicking against the floor. With a smile she handed me a paper cup filled halfway with water and two small white pills. I downed them quickly; knowing that I'd have plenty of time to get some information before they started to kick in.

"We've got about," she glanced down at her watch as she discarded the latex gloves into the trash, closing the lid she looked up from her wrist. "Ten maybe fifteen minutes until those kick in." I nodded anxiously and pulled the tape recorder from my pants pocket as she sat down the chair opposite of me. I tapped the black button on the side as the tape inside swirled to life; buzzing silently.

"Okay. If you would please state your name, and occupation here at Fox River." I instructed politely, holding the recorder out towards her face.

"Dr. Sara Tancredi. Resident physician here at Fox River Penitentiary." She answered politely, I smiled. I couldn't have asked for anything more than what I was getting out of this place; and just to think in five days I would be curled up on my couch, listening to recounts of my stories here at the infamous maximum security prison, and then I'd have my own desk at the _Chicago Times_.

"Thank you for taking some time out of your busy schedule to answer some questions." I began, swinging my legs back and forth as I tried to come up with a question for the doctor. "So, what does your father- assuming he is in relation to you- think of your choice of working here at this felicity?"

She looked at me with a blank expression; her lips pushed in a straight line as she adverted her gaze towards the ground. My eyes shifted about the room nervously; I was worried that I had stuck a sensitive nerve. I knew all too well that the governor was a very busy man, and probably didn't have time for much of his family. "Um," she answered, swallowing quickly, "He's what any other father would be in this sort of position." She answered, shrugging her shoulders slightly, uncaring. I furrowed my brows together at her answer.

"So, you're saying that your father is worried about you working at Fox River?" I pressed, holding the recorder out towards her again. She looked up at me, her expression seemed annoyed.

"Yeah," she stopped briefly, "Something like that." She glanced down at her watch quickly before looking towards the infirmary doors; I followed her gaze seeing an African American guard walking towards the exam room door, I quickly shoved the tape recorder into my pocket as he opened the door, his head motioning in my direction.

"She all done, Doc?" he asked, Dr. Tancredi turned to me; her hands shoved deeply into the pockets of her white lab coat. Nodding her quickly, she motioned for him to whisk me away.

"Yeah." She answered, moving out of his way as he strode over to me. I stood up, awaiting the feeling of cold metal, but nothing. He glanced at me and gripped my arm somewhat securely before leading me towards the door. "I'll see you again before lunch, alright?" she reminded me lazily. I nodded and gave a weak smile before we disappeared out of the door.

I moved down the line, the plastic tray held tightly in my hands as I maneuvered towards the end of the line. I glanced down at the spread that was on the plastic plates; people weren't lying when they said prison food was bad. The smell was unidentifiable, but by the way it looked…I could only guess it was peas, or, I could be wrong. I recoiled in disgust as the inmate behind the metal separated slapped a spoonful of white liquid onto my plate; my eyes slowly glanced up at him. He smiled; his teeth were yellowed with age, and he was missing quite a bit of them. I moved down the line quickly, glancing around a few times and observing the seating arrangements that were going on around me. I was almost at the end of the line when I felt a hot breath on my back; I stiffened as I felt the hand on the small of my back. "Ya' know, Sweetpea." The slimy voice drawled, I gripped the trey tighter as the hot words flooded into my mind, swirling in my brain as it imprinted itself to my skull. "You just signed your death wish yesterday." My bottom lip trembled as his hand made its way up my back and then back down to the beginning of the hem of my pants. "But don't worry, I'll make it quick." Before I knew it the tray that I was holding onto so tightly was sprawled out on the floor; T-Bag's smirk filling my mind as I watched him stalk off, his crew right behind him.

I could feel the sweat building up on my brow as I entire room of inmates and officers alike starred at the scene; and then a second later it was forgotten and they were back to their normal routine. I sighed and bent down, picking up the over turned plate and setting it attempting to scrape the rotten mess from the floor.

"That kid says he knows were Fibonacci is." The voice was low and slow in the manner that the man talked; I didn't think much of it as I continued to try and clean up the mess that "I" had made; a few CO's watched, looking amused. I jolted forward as I felt something ram into my back, sucking a breath in as the contents that I had just picked up sprayed across the floor once again. The owner of the foot cursed loudly as I turned around; I stood up holding both the tray and plate in my hands. His hair looked greasy and slicked back as it fell along his shoulders, he was tall enough that when I stood in front of him I had to crane my neck just to be able to see his face.

"Watch it kid." He spat, before pushing past me. I continued to stare after him, watching as he took a seat on the other end of the mess room with a few other men; his crew no doubt. I sighed as a CO approached me, his hand held out for the tray that I was holding in my hands, the mess at my feet.

"That's one guy you don't wanna go making enemies with." He informed me as he took the tray roughly form my hands; I let him, understanding it was all an act to keep the prisoners from getting suspicious. I looked at him and furrowed my brows in confusion; I didn't think I wanted to make enemies with anyone here, for the matter.

"Why? Who is he?" I asked the CO looked at me; a surprised expression covered his face as he bit his lip. I stepped out of the way as another prisoner brushed past me, narrowly missing the food that was piled on the floor.

"That's John Abruzzi." My eye widened as I shifted my gaze towards the man once again; his back was turned towards me until one of the men caught me staring. In an instant Abruzzi's eyes were locked with mine, an amused smirk covering his features before turning back towards his food; I swallowed hard.

"Like, John Abruzzi the- the mob boss." I stuttered, gearing my gaze away from him. The CO nodded before discarding the tray and plate into the kitchen area.

"The one and only." And with that he disappeared. I stood there for a few more minutes, trying to collect my thoughts. I've been here not even two days, and I've managed to make enemies with a pedophile and a mob boss…I'm just one lucky girl. Deciding that breakfast at his point would do me no good I glanced around the room; I wasn't going to stand here for the next forty minutes, looking like a girl on her first day in high school. I observed the many seating arrangements that presented themselves to me, none seeming to fit my taste…or racial standard. I swallowed hard as my eyes landed on the man in the middle of the room. The fork twirled around his slender fingers as he picked at the food on his plate, chewing it slowly. Letting my shoulders relax I began to make my way towards Scofield. I had too many things that I wanted to ask him, one of them being why he hadn't taken such an interest in my presence here…I mean besides the obvious reason.

But, as I neared the table my heart began to race, my fingers shook, and my face grew hot. I continued to look straight ahead, noticing the other man that he was sitting with as he slapped Scofield on the arm before motioning towards me. When he looked up he seemed more surprised than anything else. His fork clattered to the table as my eyes locked with his, my mouth suddenly felt dry as I inched closer and closer to the table. Scofield began to stand up, his expression softening…Suddenly, a whistle ripped though the air; instinctively my head turned towards the sound, to the left of me sat Jesse, a little farther on the other side of the room, his arm waving towards me.

"Boswell. Over here!" I stopped and looked back at Scofield, my eyes softening in an apologetic expression before I diverted my quick strides towards my cellmate. I discretely took a glance back in Scofield's direction; his gaze held mine for a second before we both looked away. I had to get to the bottom of this…

_Day 2; it's almost…well, I really couldn't tell you the time, we don't have clocks in here. My night was restless due to the old mattress that the prison has provided the prisoners with. I understand that they are supposed to be punished…but sleeping on that is a little much. I made another enemy today; John Abruzzi. Yes, that Abruzzi. Mr. Bagwell still has it out for me as well…let's hope I can survive the next five days. _

"Heads up seven up cons! Stand at your gates!" I quickly tucked the journal and pencil under my pillow before climbing down from the top of the bunk, following Jesse out and standing in front of our cells. The prisoners were too calm for my liking; call it intuition, but, I could tell that something wasn't right. I glanced at Jesse, his hands were held down by his side in fists, his jaw clenched tightly as he gazed ahead. Most of the prisoners were smirking, some cracking their knuckles. I glanced up towards Scofield's cell, involuntarily I might add, he looked nervous. I didn't wait for him to glance back as I noticed movement from the corner of my eye. Looking to my left I watched as an inmate stepped out of line, taking menacing step into the center of the room.

"Ballard! Get back on your number." The CO ordered; the man continued to stand there, moving his head from side to side like he was preparing for something. I watched as the other officer began to speak into his radio.

"Need backup, send backup." My chest rose and fell rapidly as an inmate standing across from me, pointed in my direction; his smile widening. My eyes widened swell, fear coursing though my veins as the speed of light.

"Get back in the cell." Jesse mumbled, I looked up at him, my eyes catching sight as something fell from his sleeve and into the fist of his hand. Before I could question anything there was a battle cry of sorts. Inmates from each side of the room raced towards each other, various handmade weapons held in their fists. This was one thing I didn't prepare for when I thought about coming here; a riot…it was the farthest thing from my mind. My first instinct was to run, but where to. I was probably the weakest one here and there for an easy target…especially for the "white" inmates. But, I guess I wasn't safe from anyone. Spinning around, I rushed towards the cell only to be blocked by various bodies throwing themselves at one another. I spun around again, loosing my footing as an inmate caught me in the leg with his boot as another one tackled him to the ground, his scream filling the air as the sound of metal against flesh ripped though the air. With a terrified grunt I pushed myself from the ground and started for the other side of the room, it didn't matter which cell I made it into as long as I made it to one to sit this out in. I was almost there when an inmate fell at my feet, and yes I men fell. I looked up to see several other inmates jeering before they turned to the others on the top level, brandishing their weapons as they fought. A sense of fear and relief wash over me at the same time as the inmate looked up at me from his spot on the ground; Scofield, he stood up slowly his eyes never leaving mine. In the admits of the chaos everything seemed to move in slow motion; his eyes gazed not at me, but behind me…at my cell. I gasped as he grabbed a fistful of my hair with one hand and grabbed the collar of my shirt with the other; my eyes wide with fear as he began to propel us forcefully towards the cell that was right behind us. My mouth hung agape at the intensity in his eyes as I gripped onto his wrists, trying to free myself from his grasp as the fighting around us continued. This is why he'd been watching me; he must have known about this little riot and decided that he was going to take me all for himself. Before I could even finish the thought or even protest I found myself on the ground of my own cell, I starred up at him eyes brimmed with tears; his eyes seemed to plead with mine as he held his hand out towards me.

"Stay here." He ordered, and then disappeared into the chaos. I covered my hands with my ears and backed up against the wall the fighting continued. Closing my eyes tightly, I let the tears fall freely; their screams and shouts filling my mind as I rocked back and forth. I didn't want to be here right now. I had to get out, feeling an anxiety attack beginning to form I stumbled up from my spot on the floor, defying Scofields earlier orders I peeked out from my cell, looking towards the stairs I covered my mouth with my hand. A man clung to Scofield, tears streaming down his face as he pleaded.

"Scofield!" my gaze adverted towards the slimy voice, which now sounded masculine screamed. I couldn't tare my gaze away from T-Bag as his mouth hung open, his features desperate and confused as he looked at the scene that was unfolding in front of him. Then I realized it…that man, in Scofield's arms…that was the boy that poor T-Bag had holding his pocket; he couldn't have killed him… I didn't have enough time to process anything else before Jesse was pushing me back into the cell, ordering me to cover my nose as cans of teargas rained down from above. Pulling my collar over my nose and mouth, I squinted my eyes from the burning fumes as I watched Jesse stash the shank in the coils under the mattress of the second bunk. He patted me on the back.

"Don't ever hesitate to use that."


	9. The Unlucky one

**A/N: Thank you Millie55 for reviewing! Still contains elements of "Allen" and "The Cell Test"**

**Disclaimer….no, Prison Break isn't still isn't mine. **

I hadn't slept all night, my eyes continued to stare at the ceiling. Needless to say, my vision was still blurred by the silent tears that leaked from my eyes, the lump growing in my throat with every minute that passed. I took a shaky breath in, wiping the tears from my eyes, closing them. Just a quickly as they were closed they were open again; every time I shut my eyes all I saw was the bodies of inmates, riddled with stab wounds and bruises, their vile language repeating in my mind over and over again as they went after people for no other reason than the difference in their skin color. I rolled onto my side so I faced the wall opposite of me, tucking my hand under my pillow and feeling around for my journal; my fingers rubbed against the black spine of the notebook; I just need to make sure it was still there. I stiffened as I heard the mattress beneath me creak, Jesse's snore filling the cell once again.

It was quite a time later that I even realized that I had drifted off to sleep. The buzzing, and the metal clanking against metal as the cell doors slid opened awoke me from my not so peaceful slumber. My hand brushed from under my pillow as I sat up, small thump was heard. I looked down quickly realizing what had just fallen from the bed, but before I could get any where near the book Jesse had already picked it up, rubbing the back of his neck as he yawned loudly, his eyes tired with sleep. I jumped down from the bunk as he opened the journal, his eyes scanning nothing but the first page before handed it towards me, his finger still held on the page he had just glanced at.

"I'm assumin' this is yours." I nodded and gave him a tired smile before quickly snatching it from his hands, and shoving it into my pocket. He looked at me suspiciously, his eyes searching my face. I must have looked shady, my finger shook slightly and I could already feel the seat building up on my brow.

"What?" I asked playing oblivious to the fact that he knew something was up; he rubbed the back of his neck before walking towards the cell doors and leaning against them for a brief second, he turned back towards me and I held my breath.

"Nothing." He answered with a short breath as he walked from the cell, leaving me. I let out a breath I was holding and leaned against the bed frame, closing my eyes momentarily as I ripped the journal from my pocket again, walking over to the small desk I grabbed the pencil from my other pocket and scribbled on the lined paper, glancing back over my shoulder to make sure no body was coming.

_Day 3; I didn't sleep at all last night. A race riot broke out at count, it was one of the most terrifying things I've ever witness; I don't think anyone was prepared for it. That's another thing I've noticed about this place; the COs aren't doing a very good job of keeping the inmates in the places._

A strange feeling washing over me; the kind of feeling you get when you think you're alone, and you can almost feel the eyes of someone else on you. I slowly glanced behind me, my eyes rising from the floor as I noticed a pair of boots standing in the doorway of the cell. I looked up slowly, my eyes traveling the length of the navy blue pants that were layered by a blue work shirt; I caught sight of his arms, not knowing if it was the same person. Tattoos stretched up both sides of his body. My eyes stopped on his face; it was the same expression he always had. I was starting to think maybe that's the only one he could muster up in a place like this. I pushed the journal farther behind me on the table and leaned against it, shielding my work from him. I swallowed hard, glancing back at the ground before looking back up at him.

"Can I help you?" I asked, trying to sound hard and unafraid. He smirked, knowingly. He must have realized that I could only hold this courageous and fearless act for so long; eventually I was going to break. I crossed my arms over my chest and starred at him, he walked into the cell more, his boots carrying him closer. I pressed myself up against the table, my eyes quickly adverting towards the bunk beds. No what was I thinking…I couldn't do that. I reached behind me as he got closer, my fingers sliding over the length of the wooden pencil. He stopped midway; my breathing was heavy and labored.

"No." he answered, his voice sent shivers up my spine in an odd way; I wasn't repulsed, but…intrigued. It was soft and quite, almost as if he was a shy kind of person, which I high doubted that was the case. My grip on the pencil relaxed as I knitted my brows together.

"Then-"he spoke again, cutting me off mid-sentence.

"But I think I can help you." His lips twitched as he finished the sentence. I continued to stare at him, my hand releasing the pencil as it clicked back onto the table with a silent thump. I opened my mouth to speak, but thing but a breath seemed from my mouth. My mind raced, thinking of something to say, something, anything would have been better than just standing here. Suddenly, something clicked in my brain…he had to know. He saw me meeting with the warden, he knew I hadn't done anything drastic to be put here; he knew the system would never allow it.

"I don't-"I shook my head, letting out a dry laugh before looking back down at the ground and then back up at him. "I don't know what you're talking about." I tired to cover up the nervousness in my voice; he knitted is brows together in confusion. Maybe he didn't know…maybe he didn't mean I needed help with what I really needed help with, he thought I needed the other kind of help. I looked past him, seeing Officer Bellick stop at the front of the cell, his hands on this belt as he readjusted it.

"Scofield!" the man in front of me turned around, but not before dropping something at his feet; I knitted my brows in confusion and looked down only to see that he had stepped on it, a thin piece of paper stuck from under this boot as he placed his hands in his pockets, his lips curling into a small smile before turning around, his left boot never so much as lifting from the ground, "There a problem here?" Bellick spat, looking past Scofield as he glanced at me, seeming to check on me.

"No, boss." He answered, Bellick grunted in response and looked back towards me raising an eyebrow; he didn't believe him. I could faintly see Scofield's foot move as he seemed to kick something under the bottom bunk; I nodded my head.

"That so, Boswell?" Bellick's voice carried over as he began to approach the two of us, I took this opportunity to slip both the small journal and pencil back into my pocket without being caught. "Get outta here, Scofield." He glared up at the younger man, and Scofield glared right back, taking a glance back over his shoulder in my direction and smirking before stalking off out of the cell, Bellick watching his every move with a look of sheer disgust covering his features.

"Come on. You gotta a morning appointment with the doc." I nodded as he gripped my arm tightly and began to drag me from my cell, my feet desperately trying to keep up with his quick strides. I twisted my neck back discretely, glancing down at Jesse's bunk as we left the cell. What did he put under there?

The rest of the day was quite uneventful; no one seemed to bother me much. There were more guards stationed out during yard time though, which, to me was an improvement from what they normally had out there, but, once the racial tensions began to simmer down it would go back to way it was before. My mind should have been focused on getting more information, but every time I tried to observe what was going on around me the events from earlier this morning came flooding back. _I think I can help you._ What did that even mean; I leaned up against the fence, my arms crossed over my chest as I watched the mingling among the inmates, and in an odd way it was peaceful. I bit my lip and closed my eyes as I leaned my head back against the fence again, the chain rattling. A thump from behind me caught my attention. My fingers wrapped around the chain links in the fence as I watched two guards escorting a man towards another part of the prison. I stood on my tippy-toes as I tried to catch a glance at who it may have been. Obviously, it wasn't someone that was in Gen-pop; chains dangled from his wrists and ankles as they roughly prodded him, causing him to stumble slightly. From I could see of him he was a muscular guy, head shaved and his face unemotional…almost like another prisoner that I had come to know.

"Boswell!" I tore my gaze away from the prisoner and shifted my body weight to my other foot as I watched a CO approaching me, his hands on his belt again…they all seemed to do that. Once he was close enough to me he nodded his head in my direction. "You got an appointment with Dr. Tancredi." I sighed; I think I was spending more time in the examination room than I was in my actual cell these days. The time seemed to pass quickly as I was led up the infirmary, I was starting to become very acquainted with the medical staff, almost to the point that I could already tell you their whole life stories; except, Tancredi…she was holding back.

"So, how's prison life treating you?" Sara asked, as she scribbled some things down in my files; I jumped down from the exam table and leaned against it as she handed me some water and the pills that I usually took; I downed them quickly.

"It's a lot to take in." I answered truthfully; glancing around the infirmary that was half empty; my foot tapped against the floor as she gave me a small smiled. "I never realized how- how segregated everything was."

"Not fitting in?" she asked, sitting down at her desk and turning the chair to face me. I shrugged my shoulders and my mind flashed back to yesterday morning, in the mess hall.

"It's like being the new kid at school. Except," T-bag's voice filled my mind, his stench lingering in my nose as I raised one eyebrow, shaking my head. "Everyone here wants to kill you."

Not more than a second later, the door to the exam room flew open. Dr. Tancredi jumped up from her seat and rushed over towards the inmate that was standing on one foot, his face contorted in pain as tears threatened to cascade down his face. I backed away from the table, my eyes wide in shock as I looked at the bloody mess that was on his other foot, one of the officers held a boot in his hand before quickly dropping it to the ground and rushing from the room as more inmates began to jeer. My nerves were on their last end as he maneuvered himself onto the exam table, his head tipped back against the plastic pillow shaped part; only then did I realize who it was.

Scofield's face contorted in pain once again, his face hot and beaded with sweat. I glanced back his face, his eyes closed tightly, biting his lip. "Put pressure on it!" I could faintly hear Dr. Tancredi yell; everything seemed to move in slow motion as I looked back down at his foot, it was wrapped in a towel that I assumed used to be any color but red; my stomach turned inside out. "Erica!" I snapped my head towards Dr. Tancredi's voice, eyes wide and scared. "Put pressure on it!" with that she fled the room, I could imagine to get something to help him. With hesitant movements, I placed both of my hands over the towel and pressed down, the red liquid staining my hands. Scofield's body shook violently, as he bent over, placing his hands on top of mine and gripping at them; something about this situation didn't feel right…his foot it was…My curiosity got the best of me and I quickly unwrapped his foot, catching a glanced of it I quickly covered it back up, and applying more pressure. Tears dripped from his eyes as he leaned back against the table again, his fists covering his eyes and wiping his tears.

"What happened?" I asked, voice shaking. He gripped my hands again, and bit his bottom lip as more tears cascaded down his cheeks.

"Nothing." His voice shaking violently, I looked back up at him. My mouth agape, what kind of answer was that. That's the kind of answer that you give when you walk into a room with a look that reads 'fuck off' and someone asks you what's wrong…not when your foot is mangled and missing several toes. Obviously something did happen! Before I could probe anymore, Dr. Tancredi arrived with several CO's behind her. One of them ripped me away from the scene, the bloody towel falling from my hands as I watched his painful expression worsen as he tossed his head back again, crying.

I leaned against the wall of my cell, my head snapping up towards the second level every time I heard the buzzer sound. Several times I'd run over to the cell doors and looked up at Scofield's cell…still no one was in it. I paced back and forth several times, my finger nails attached to my teeth every second. I couldn't understand why I was so worried though; I glanced back at Jesse as he sat at the small table in the corner, his body bent over some new thing he was working on. Suddenly I stopped pacing, the paper. My pencil clattered to the floor as I tossed it under the bunk. Jesse's body turned around and glanced at me as I crawled under the bunk and retrieved the pencil. It was quite disgusting, the dust filled y nose to the brim as I glanced around for the paper. I looked to the right, closest to the wall and noticed a small white shape. Reaching forward I caught it between my fingers before dragging it towards me, my knitted my brows in confusion.

It was in the shape of a bird; origami. I remembered making origami birds with my dad when I was little. He would always bring home an already made one when he'd come home form his trips to Japan and China, and he'd always bring a book home, full of animal shapes. We'd sit there for hours on end, especially on rainy days. I remembered this one time, we made a family. A baby swan, a mommy swan, and a daddy swan; they lived in a lake surrounded my green paper as trees and blue paper as water, and they're friend, Mr. Toad…

"What you doin' down there?" I gasped and lifted my head up quickly, the back of it smacking against the underside of the bunk. I groaned in pain I looked to the left; Jesse's face was inches from mine, an amused expression in his eyes. I sighed and slowly placed the bird in my pocket before holding up the pencil and maneuvering my way back out from under the bunk. I stood up, still holding my head as Jesse got up from his spot on the floor.

"My pencil fell." I lied, holding it in my hands. The buzzer sounded again; I whipped my head around and glanced up at Scofield's cell. A sigh of relief fell from my lips as I watched him limp into the cage before they closed the doors.

"Why are you always writin' in this thing anyways?" I slowly turned around, my flood freezing in my veins as I watched Jesse open the journal; his eyes traveling over the page. My legs propelled me fast towards the inmate, my hand reaching out and ripping the journal from his hands, I held it close to me. He looked at me suspiciously before turning so that he could fully face me. His eyes traveled over my face, the pale blue hues sticking on the journal as he jerked his head in its direction.

My mind raced; what was I supposed to say? My jaw worked furiously, trying to find an excuse that would work. "My therapist says it relives stress, it's a good coping mechanism." I lied, shoving the book under my pillow and keeping my hand placed onto of its white face. He took a few steps forward. I stiffened as I watched him lean against the bed frame.

"So, it's like what… a diary?" he pushed, I nodded quickly.

"Yeah. Exactly, and you know- girls don't like sharing their diaries with people. They're very private." I argued, smiling. He rubbed the back of his neck and, nodded in agreement.

"Lights out!"

**Jesse POV.**

_She thinks I'm so stupid_. I'm probably smarter than half the stupid cons in this place. I listened intently as her pencil scribbled along the pages of her journal, no doubt jotting down notes and various observations. Well, she wasn't the only one making note of things. I was a con, I knew a real con when I saw one…and she wasn't one. Don't think I didn't notice the guards coming by our cell every half and hour during the night, all night. I was sneaky, sneaky enough to take a few peeks in her journal and see what she was really up to. I saw my name in there a few times. I silently got up from bottom bunk, moving slowly so that it would creak…it had been a few minutes. I figured that I took her a total of five minutes to fall asleep each night, the guards wouldn't be back for another thirty minutes. Glancing outside my cell as the last guard made the route on the top floor before descending back into the guard's room, I moved. I reached up my hand slowly slithering under her pillow and gripping the journal; I slowly withdrew it. I opened the first page of the small book, struggling to read her small handwriting.

_Article: Life inside an all male prison: Fox River Penitentiary _

_Name: Erica Boswell_

_Newspaper: The Chicago University Times_

My brows knitted together in confusion and I flipped to the next page; she stirred above. I slowly glanced up, watching as she moved so that she was laying flat on her back. She was still asleep.

_Day 1, they've put me in a cell with a man by the name of Jesse Rockwell, or "Rocky" as they call him in prison; I don't know much about him but the warden assured me that he was one of the safest inmates here. I'm still not too sure of him; I've just learned that he's killed several people._

I flipped the page again.

_Only five days left in this place, I've managed to come across several well known convicts while here at Fox River: Theodore Bagwell, the serial rapist that was featured on America's Most Wanted, and John Abruzzi, Chicago's most notorious mob-boss. Both don't seem to have taken a liking to me; in fact, I'm pretty sure I've got a couple red targets on my back right now. Scofield and Rockwell act suspicious around me…I'm afraid that they know why I'm here. _

I flipped the page again hurriedly

_I haven't seen any sign of Lincoln Burrows; let's hope I can get to him before my time here is up_

I smiled to myself as I closed the journal, putting it into the waistband on my pants. I licked my lips as I looked up at the sleeping figure of the woman; she's gonna wish she never set foot in this place

**End. Jesse POV**

My brows knitted together as I felt the weight on the top bunk shift. With my eye still closed I tucked my hand under my pillow, too tired to wake up yet. The weight shifted again, this time on either side of my head. My eyes twitched under my eyelids as I felt something hot tickle my face, I opened my eyes slowly only to find a pair staring back into mine, fire burning with a hellish blaze within them. Opening my mouth to shriek but it was muffled as a hand smacked it's self around onto my face, muffling any words that I said, an arm pressed against my throat as my hand reached up and gripped their arms.

"Shhh, shh, Shhh." The familiar low voice rang in my ears, his mouth twisting in a menacing grin…


	10. So Help me God

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**A/N: Much thanks to: Millie55, Dharja, EHunter82, YourAJoker, and Imogen-x0x for the amazing reviews! You guys are the best :) I've already begun a sequel to this; which should be out by Christmas. (Hopefully!). Kudos to who can identify the man at the end of the chapter!**

**Warning: Contains sensitive issues. **

**Disclaimer: Prison Break is mine...yeah, I wish. **

**Recap: **_"Shhh, shh, Shhh." The familiar low voice rang in my ears, his mouth twisting in a menacing grin…_

_

* * *

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I panicked, my eyes staring back into his. The comforting feeling that they had radiated for the last three days of my stay seemed to have all but vanished into thin air, dissipated like rain on a hot day. My whole body shook in fear as he laughed quietly, his arm pressing harder into my throat; a choked cry escaped my lips, the sound could barely be heard. I wanted to close my eyes, if he was going to suffocate me…I didn't want to see the look on his face; he'd probably be laughing, relishing into the feeling of being able to kill again. My heart leapt in my chest, my eyes flying open in an instant as I felt my legs being pressed apart, my blood ran cold. I began to struggle underneath him, wanting to scream.

"Hey, hey!" he hissed quietly, his hand still over my mouth, fingernails digging into the flesh on my cheeks; a tear

feel from my eye rolling over his fingers before falling onto the sheet underneath of us. "You think I'm that stupid, don't ya?" he hissed at me again, his arm lifted from my throat before he roughly grabbed me by the chin, forcing me to look at him. He wasn't the same cell mate I met at the beginning of the week; his features were hard, mouth twisted into a manic grin, eyes gleaming with lust and hatred…and desire. I shook my head slowly, tears rolling down my cheeks as I tried to plead with him.

"No." I half mumbled, half sobbed from beneath his hand, "No." I would try anything to get free from this. I began to thrash underneath him again as his hand violently ripped away from my chin, my head slamming down against the pillow again, his now free hand traveled down between the two of us; my eyes, if they could get any bigger, widened in fear, yet again.

"Calm down." He ordered, as he withdrew his hands from between our bodies, a small object held in his hands. My eyes closed and I began to sob with no end; he'd read the journal…he knew why I was here. He knew everything I was going to release to the world, well, at least the state of Chicago, once I was out of here. He held the journal in between his fingers, those slimy hands rolling down the face of the small notebook. "You're little coping mechanism, huh?" he chuckled, tossing the book onto the ground. While keeping his hand still clasped around my mouth, his other hand roughly grabbed me by the throat, holding me down onto the bed; my legs kicked underneath of him, my eyes bulging as the air traveling to my lungs suddenly stopped, another strangled cry erupted from my throat, vibrating off the palm of his hand. "What were you gonna write about us, 'cons'," he stressed the word "once you got outta here?" he asked, his eyes quickly diverted towards the opening of the cell as a con in another cell shifted, another snored…all was quite. I didn't answer, I shook my head, attempting to tell him a successful lie about their names being changed, status of imprisonment…anything, and I'd do anything to get out of this situation. In fact…I wanted out of Fox River, for good. "Huh? I need some little prestigious bitch's project getting me more time in this place, you got that?" he whispered harshly, my vision was beginning to blur from the lack of oxygen, his face was a hazy mist right in front of my eyes.

"Now," the grip of my throat began to relax, "We can do this the easy way," he whispered, against my face, released his hand from my throat. I lay there under him in a daze, my eyes trying to focus desperately on what was happening. My head lazily lolled to the side before I could turn it back towards him weakly "Or," the outline of a sharp object caught the corner of my eye, I swallowed hard as he brought the object into the focus; the shank. My bottom lip quivered as he pressed it against my lips, letting the blunt side of the hideous object slide across my bottom lip, the cold relaxing my chapped lips. "We can do this the hard way." His voice was quite, and calm…too calm for this to be his first time at an attack such as this.

"Now, I figure we've got fifteen maybe even eighteen minutes to get this done." His eyes glanced down at my heavy chest and he licked his lips, my lips twisted in a repulsed grimace as he bit his bottom lip, letting the blade slide down my neck, tracing the curve of my breasts. A choked cry escaped my lips quietly as his hands, roughly yanked at the pants that were surprisingly sung on my body; I tried to push his hands away, kicking my legs.

"No, please," I sobbed quietly, "Please don't do this, please don't-"his free hand grasped my throat tightly, his lips pressing against my tear stained cheek; I recoiled in disgust and closed my eyes, fresh tears falling from them.

"This would go by-" I gasped as I heard the clasp of my pants snap, my lips and body quivering uncontroabley, " So much faster if you just shut up." He growled his hand slipped into the waistband of my pants, trailing over the hem of my underwear before the calloused fingers began to squeeze my thighs; he grunted quietly in anticipation, another choked sob escaping my lips. "Oh," he added, his voice cheerful as ever, it made me sick to my stomach "Don't worry about us getting' caught…I'm normally quite."

My body tensed as his fingers danced across other parts of my body, a sickening feeling raising my stomach. It was almost like it had been turned inside out, like when you get on a roller coaster. I laid there; my eyes squeezed shut, anticipating the worst. It was one of the worst feelings I've ever felt; being so vulnerable, not being able to save myself…I guess I should have seen this coming though. Stuck in a cell with a horny guy who hasn't seen a woman in what almost ten years? This was all my fault… Pressing the side of my face to the pillow I let my tears fall onto the white face, his satisfied grunts and moans filled the small cell to a minimum as his fingers hooked around the hem of my undergarments, this was it; was I really willing to go though this just for an article…

Anticipating the feel of fingers I pressed my face into the pillow harder, maybe if I suffocated myself, I wouldn't be able to feel anything; then again, suffocation can take longer than what he needed to do this dastardly deed. I placed my hands under the pillow, gripping the bed sheets, my heart leapt in my chest. My eyes shot open at the feel of the slender pencil as it ran though my fingers, my gasp hitched in my throat. My head bobbed back as Jesse's lips pressed against my neck, I felt as if I was going to vomit, both for what he was doing…and what I was about to do. Ignoring his fingers as they worked on my underwear, I slowly drew the pencil from under the pillow; my knuckles white with fear as I gripped it like a knife. Raising my hand by my side, gripping the pencil, I let my other hand drift up to the back of his neck, gripping it softly. His satisfied moan vibrated against my neck. "Yeah, that's it." He moaned my hand gripped the back of his neck, rubbing just on the top of the beginning of his spinal chord; my hand raised, the sharpened edge pointed at the side of his neck…

Without a moments hesitation, I plunged the yellow number two pencil into the right side of his neck, with lightening fast reflexes his hand ripped from the inside of my pants, his lips retreating from my neck as both of his hands reached up, gripping at the pencil that was sticking out; blood pooled around the entry wound. With a shaking body, I fell off the side of the bunk. The wind whipped though my hair for a short moment before I collided with the stone floor; I couldn't afford to be dazed right now. Ignoring the searing pain that ripped though the left side of my body I stood up, my hand supporting me as I scaled the wall, right towards my journal. You may think that was a stupid move, going for the one thing that single handedly could have killed me, but I needed this, my article was too important to me, and why not write about what just happened. In a matter of minutes…just as I shoved the notebook into my pocket, I felt an arm wrap around my neck from behind. The wheezing voice let me know exactly who it was; I struggled against him as he held me against his chest, his muscular arm pressing into my neck with brute strength. I tried to reach behind me as he lifted me from the ground, trying to push me up against the wall. All I had to do was twist the pencil a little more, inflict maximum pain. Kicking my feet out, the soles of my socked feet hit the wall, restraining my body from going any farther, with a strained grunt and all the strength I had in me, I used the momentum from the wall and kicked off; the force made Jesse loose his balance, the both of us tumbling towards the floor, the back of his head hitting the metal bed post with a loud bang. We'd get caught…he'd be caught.

With relief coursing though my veins I stood up, my mouth open and ready to scream with all my might; suddenly I was back to square one, his foot lashed out catching my ankle as I ran towards the cell door. My face slammed into the concrete floor, my head spinning. Getting to my hands I knees, I looked around the cell floor, looking for anything absolutely anything to keep him at bay until another guard walked by on their nightly routine. I could hear his grunts as he stood up from the dazing falling, my head violently shook, and hands trembling as I noticed the shiny object. Everything from that point on seemed to move in slow motion; like when you're remembering a good memory and you make everything move slower so you can stay in that realm of mind. Feeling his hand grip the back of my neck I twist around, the shank held tightly in my hands in a panic. I felt the hot liquid falling pouring onto my hand, the feel of torn flesh filling my senses as Jesse's strangled cry whimpered in my ear, I looked down slowly. My face contorting in disgust as my watched the red liquid seep from his gut, falling over my hands as it dripped to the floor. I slowly looked back up, my eyes filling with tears as I watched a tear slip from Jesse's eye his face adverting towards the ground. I slowly pulled the shank from his gut, letting the metal clank to the floor the blood droplets spraying. Stumbling back as he hit the ground I screamed, my bloodied hands wiping themselves on my white shirt in a panic. I continued to watch the body as he twitched, his hand reaching for me…for help. I screamed again, and again, again…not being able to do anything else. The buzzing sound was the only thing I heard as the cell was swamped with CO's.

Bellick stopped next to me, his gun drawn as I trembled beside him; my skin felt clammy, and cold at the same time, I had wrapped my bloody hand up in the bottom of my shirt; sobs wracking my body as I leaned up against the wall. Bellick's eyes glanced over me as he stepped towards my body, I flinched, closing my eyes as his came in contact with my bloody shirt.

"Jesus Christ." He growled, grabbing me by the arm as more CO's began to flood into the room; all of them wore the same shocked expression, I began to cry again as Bellick dragged me from the cell. The sounds of inmates jeering and throwing things from their cells filled the musty air that night brought into the prison. "What happened?" he asked, gripping my arms. I began to sob again, looking past him as a CO talked into his talkie hurriedly, his eyes wide; I watched as another bent down, rolling Jesse onto his back. The sight of his ghostly white body, trigged my mind to spin; I squeezed them shut as Bellick gripped my arms again, shaking me violently. "I said, what the hell happened!" he screamed.

"I'm sorry," I sobbed, my legs threatening to give out as I looked at Bellick, "I- I- I- I didn't mean-mean-to." I sobbed, my body shaking again, violently. Bellick's eyes widened as the realization of what I had done struck him, his face twisted in anger as he gripped my arms tightly, turning to another CO and motioning for him to grab my other arm. I looked around, tears and snot blurring my vision as my eyes widened, they began to drag me towards the door…roughly. I didn't realize what was going on until it stuck me…it's my word against, what, hundreds of other prisoners. They'd never believe me…

"Wait, what-what are you doing?" I asked, my voice trembling with fear as the buzzer sounded, the door opening as they dragged me towards the door that lead to the other side of the prison…where they other, more dangerous prisoners were kept. They didn't answer…they didn't have to. "No, no please! You can't put me in there! Listen to me!" I screamed, desperately trying to break way from their grasp, I dug my heels into the sidewalk as my voice echoed in the night. Bellick stooped us abruptly.

"Why should we listen to you? You just killed a man!" he yelled in my face before pushing me towards the doors of the building again. It was smaller than the initial prison I was being kept in, this all too real for comfort now.

"Inmate being transported to SHU." I heard the other officer speak into his walkie talkie; I thrashed again as they began to shove me towards the door. Yes, this was real. This wasn't something they had planned, or I had planned; I just wanted out of here. I tried to twist out of their grip as they lead me down the small dimly lighted hallway; the doors closing behind us.

"No, please!" I screamed again, sobs racking my body, "Please! I didn't do it on purpose! Please, you can't-"before I could finish my tear filled rant my body was already being tossed into the first opened cell, the door slamming shut. There was no use in fighting it anymore. I slumped over in a heap of sobs, my fist pounding at the dirt covered ground. My back hunched as I sucked in a deep breath, tears and spit falling onto the ground. I was pathetic. I was afraid. I was a murder.

"Hey," a deep voice filled the room; I ignored it to the best of my ability, my sobbing continued as I pressed myself up against the wall. "Are you okay?" the same voice asked, I ignored the voice once again; curling into myself as I looked at the door in front of me, my eyes glazed over with fatigue, regret, fear, and sadness…how was I getting out of his one?


	11. Fifteen Years

**A/N: Thank you guys again for all the wonderful reviews! I really do appreciate them :) And for those of you that haven't been to my page, there is a poll going on that pertains to this story; so if you want please click on over and vote! Also, you are all smart cookies for figuring out the mystery man at the end of Ch.10!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Prison Break.**

_How did I end up like this?_ I continued to lie on the dirt covered floor, my back pressed against the hard ground, sweat rolled down from my face; trickling down my neck and staining my clothes, well, staining them worse than they were already. I wiped the sweat from my face slowly, turning so that I was now laying on my side; my eyes gazing into the abyss. I hadn't slept all night, and from the constant shifting on the other side of my "cell", I could tell that the other inmate wasn't getting too much sleep either. I closed my eyes for a split second, blinking away the sleep that was somehow finding its way into my face. My cheek pressed against the cold ground, I couldn't ignore how hot it had become in this place; or maybe it was just me. Clearing my throat, I coughed, dust and dirt flowing up my nose. I wanted out of here, out of this place, out of this situation; and fast, I never wanted to return to it. I could still feel his breath on my skin, his fingers on my legs…his blood on my hands; I slowly sat up, and looked down at my shirt; the events from that night replayed in my head. Had I meant to kill him? I could see the shank as it entered my hand, my fist tightening around the makeshift handle; nothing but desperate hope of survival had coursed though my veins at that moment. Fight or Flight; it was a common and biological mechanism that all of us possessed, it was jut up to us which one we would choose. In a normal circumstance I would have been able to compromise, walk away from the situation unharmed, however, this was no normal circumstance.

The jingling of keys caught my attention, my head quickly snapped up as a dim ray of light managed to seep though the doorway as it opened. My eyes hung low as Bellick walked in, handcuffs opened and ready for my already raw wrists; I sat there, my legs stretched out in front of me; my once white socks were stained brown from the dirt and they were soiled to no end, the knees of my pants the same way…and my shirt bloodied. The scene was something straight out of a horror film. It was almost like my mouth was sewn shut when he approached me, the chapped lips rubbing together as he clasped the iron around my wrists and pulled me up roughly; suddenly my voice found its way back home.

"Please." I begged quietly, almost in a whisper. "You-you have to believe me. Please." His lips upturned into a wicked smirk before his face leaned in towards mine, stopping just inches away from my nose.

"Save it." He spat in a horrid way; his eyes gleaming with, what I saw to be, happiness. He was happy I had gotten this put on me, then again, he'd had it out for me since day one; god, I act like I've been here for years, it's only been four days…I only have three days to go.

I didn't struggle when he began to push me towards the door, I didn't plead, and I didn't protest…I simply went. Relief washing over me as my mind began to skip back to the day I had a meeting with the warden. _Pull the plug on this at any time_. I was getting out of here…today, and never looking back. I still was going to write my story; it's a shame I didn't get the inside scoop on Burrows before this incident happened, but none of that mattered now, I was leaving. Soon, I would be back in my air conditioned apartment, with a shower that I didn't have to share, food that didn't look and taste like shit, clothes that I felt comfortable in, a couch I could lounge in, and a bed that I didn't have to be afraid in; irregardless, my life would never be the same in sense, the regret and memory of killing someone would always loom in the back of my mind, even when I was old and on my deathbed. It was a shame that I would soon be leaving the mysterious Scofield; never have being able to find out his coded ways, never being able to see if his foot was healed, never seeing those eyes again…but it wasn't a shame that I was leaving the rest behind, leaving the beady eyes of Theodore Bagwell and the scheming face of John Abruzzi. I was soon going to be free, free from this nightmare.

I was so deep in thought that I didn't even realize the various routes that we had taken though the prison, my feet carried me like a zombie; my mind was elsewhere, but my body remained in a focused position. It didn't dawn on me that I was being taken to the Warden's office until we stepped though the door, the heavy scent of cinnamon filling my nose. Becky's head quickly lifted from the paper she was examining so intently behind her desk; giving me an apologetic look, she stood up, her feet moving quickly to the door of the Warden Pope's interior office.

"_Warden,"_ her voice was soft and strained, _"Bellick is here." _

Behind the half closed door I could faintly here the sounds of objects being forcefully slammed down on a wooden surface of some type, the sound hollow and uninviting. I shifted uncomfortably as she looked back at me, her eyes low and filled with sorrow; she knew something I didn't.

"_Send them in." _ I heard his voice boom; it was gentle like the day I had first met him. My heart began to beat rapidly in my chest, he was angry, I just knew he was…and he had every right to be; but not just angry at me…but at himself. Bellick roughly pushed me towards the office, Becky stepping out our way hastily and retreating back to her desk. Once inside the office, the CO standing outside of the door shut it loudly. Warden Pope turned towards us quickly as he stood there hands behind his back, his eyes were riddled with rage and fire, his mouth pinned in a straight line, and face red as he pointed to the chair in front of his desk; the very chair I sat in only a week ago…as a free woman.

"Sit down." He ordered harshly, with Bellick's "help", I was shoved into the seat; Mr. Pope's eyes caught sight of my bloodied shirt, his eyes growing in rage once again. "Which guard was on duty last night?" he asked hastily pacing back and forth behind his desk.

"I was." Bellick informed him, readjusting his belt and tipping his cap in the Warden's direction. I watched as Mr. Pope's face continued to deepen in color, going from a light pink to full fledged red hot in a matter of seconds, his feet shuffled across the floor, pacing again; it was making me nervous.

"How-how did this happen!" he yelled in pure rage, slamming his fists down on the wooden desk as his erratic pacing came to a sudden halt. I jumped my body jolting from the sudden outburst; I starred down at the floor before looking up at him, shaking my head as my eyes filled with ears.

"Warden-"I tried to plead, but my voice as lost.

"Don't" he pointed an accusing finger at me, now leaning with both hands on his desk, his belly pushing against the wood. "Your attack on Mr. Rockwell was fatal; he-he died earlier this morning." All color drained from my face at that instant; I had always had it in the back of my mind that somehow, someway he would still be alive, not that I wanted him to be but- "And because of you," he went on, his eyes filling with hatred, "He's leaving behind an eight year old daughter he's never met, and a twenty year old daughter that will never get the proper giving away that she is entitled to." He spat, slamming down a file on the face of his desk, I looked away; not knowing whose' it was.

"Care to share how-and-and why you did this?" he asked harshly, his voice raising high above the normal octave that should be allowed in an enclosed room. I continued to look away, trying to shove the lump in my throat back down; I killed a man, a man with a family…his daughter would never meet him, his other daughter…she'd never get her father daughter dance, or her father to walk her down the isle, or a man that her grandchildren could call grandpa; and it was all because of me.

"I-I-I," I couldn't get anything else past the sickening feeling that rose in my stomach, setting into my heart, " I- didn't mean to, he was-he was," he cut me off as tears began to fall down my cheeks.

"Cut the act!" I heard Bellick snarl in my direction.

"Officer Bellick!" Pope yelled in a warning voice, his attention returning to me in a millisecond, "What motive did you have when you stepped foot in this prison?" he asked, quickly, gesturing to the place around him "Was it this?" he gestured towards my soiled and bloody clothes. I slowly looked up, my mind was taking it's precious time trying to register what I was being accused of; he actually thinks this is why I fought so hard to be here…so I could do this? So I could kill a man that I didn't even know.

"No!" I didn't know where my voice had been hiding, but it was out now, loud and clear, "Warden of course-"

"Was it revenge?" he screamed back, " Did he- did he hurt some in- in your family, a friend…" his eyes seemed to light up, "Is that why you wanted in here! It was never about Lincoln Burrows, or your stupid article, was it!"

I couldn't believe what I was being accused of, murder…premeditated, planned. Excuse me, but how in the fuck did he come up with his twisted conclusion? Huh, wouldn't that be a story for the ages: 'Girl poses as journalist to gain access to convicted felon' go figure. My mouth hung open as I listened to his accusation, my jaw working furiously as I thought of something to say. But nothing was coming; there was no justification for killing someone, my parents had taught me that early on. I was against killing in every way possible…but in the heat of the moment.

"Explain to me then, Dammit!" he slammed his fits down on the desk, denting the wood. His chest heaved up and down, face dotted with seat as it rolled off his face. "Did the inmates get to you?" I shook my head and closed my eyes, sucking in a tearful breath. "Rockwell was due to be released in just one week, and it came to my attention, later than sooner, that a lot of people in this prison wanted him dead." I looked up at him, my brows knitting together in confusion as I listen to his latest accusation; that was hired, forced by the inmates to commit this heinous act. "Who asked you?" he asked me lowly, his voice becoming softer.

"He wasn't as safe as you said he was." I answered though my tears, lifting my cuffed hands up so I could wipe them away.

"Miss. Boswell," he tapped his index finger on his desk loudly, "Are you trying to tell me…that this act was in self-defense?" I nodded my head slowly, pushing the recount of the attack away as I tried to stay focused on this. He shook his head, and bit the inside of his cheek, my face fell…he didn't believe me.

"Miss. Boswell, don't go making excuses for these inmates. Was it Theodore Bagwell?" I face contoured in disgust and shock. "One of the guards said that they saw you talking to him on your first day here, as well as in the mess hall." I let out a shocked dry sob as I looked around the room, shaking my head in disbelief.

"No. Why-why don't you believe me? He tried to rape me!" I yelled, "He was going to kill me; don't you understand!" His face contorted in anger, his face getting a shade darker, if possible.

"Miss. Boswell, no other inmates heard or saw anything of the sort." He argued, I could hear Bellick snicker behind us.

"He had me gagged!" I cried, his face turned into a controlled thin line. I could tell he was holding his tongue, restraining himself from doing something he would regret.

"Enough! Enough!" he slammed his fist down onto the table, denting the wood yet again, knocking a few objects from the face of the polished furniture; his breathing was heavy again, sweating beading up on his forehead. "If you won't tell the truth, then you'll have to suffer the consequences." He informed me, looking past me at Bellick and nodding his head.

Before I knew it Bellick grabbed me from behind, pulling me up from the chair roughly. My eyes were wide in fear, in shock; in horror…they couldn't do this! They didn't need to tell me what they were about to do, they couldn't keep me here; people would start to ask questions, they would find out. "What are you doing?" I asked fearing rising in my voice as I looked around as Pope pulled is thin glasses onto his face, opening a file.

"Miss. Boswell, I here by sentence you to fifteen years in Fox River Penitentiary." My stomach seemed to drop, my knees buckled, and my hand shook; this can't be happening. "On the charges of two- well now, three- accounts of intended homicide, four accounts of arson, one account of assault with a deadly weapon, and one account of extortion." My eyes widened as I listened to the accounts being added to my already "false" record, my breathing became labored, and my head began to spin…fifteen years, for things I didn't even do.

"You can't do this." I argued, my voice shaking, "I want a lawyer, and I want a fair trial." My voice was breaking, and tears blurred my vision.

"You know we can't do that." He answered, taking the glasses from his face and rubbing his temples. I gave him that 'why the fuck not' look as Bellick continued to hold me up right; so I wouldn't face plant on the floor from pure shock. "No ones knows you're here, especially not the system." He opened his eyes and looked at me, "You would have never been allowed here; you would have needed permission from the state, the governor… hell, even the president." He sounded worried, afraid now; his voice was small.

"You're denying my constitutional rights," I argued, "I have the right to a trial by jury, you can't do this!" I yelled, kicking as Bellick began to drag me towards the door.

"You lost those rights as soon as you stepped foot in this place." My face fell, tears falling from my eyes and onto the carpet as Bellick dragged me out of the door. I looked around the room, watching as Becky quickly adverted her eyes to her computer screen again, wiping what looked like a tear from her cheek. More tears began to fall as I looked in the direction of the door to the outer office; Scofield stood there, his hands closed into fists as he watched Bellick push me towards the door, a choked sob erupted from my throat as I watched Scofield's eyes water; why was he doing this…why did he care? Suddenly, the Warden's voice ripped though the room. Bellick stopped abruptly, jerking me to a halt, I stood with my head held down, staring at Scofield's shoes. I could still feel his eyes burning at the back of my head.

"Officer Bellick," the Warden's voice quieted as he reached us; thankfully, I inherited the annoying senses of a hawk from my dad's side of the family. "I_ want her under twenty-four hour surveillance." _I heard him whisper.

"_Why?"_ I heard Bellick whisper back; I felt something touch my hand, adverting my eyes to the side I watched as Scofield's hand slipped into mine; the touch sending shivers up my spine, my head slowly began to look up.

"Don't. Keep your head down." He whispered, I did as told and continued to look at the floor, my eyes still staring at our clasped hands from the corner of my eye, not to sound too cliché or anything…but it felt right, I felt calm, I felt safe.

"_Suicide watch, she's a risk. Now, we can hide the fact that a woman killed Mr. Rockwell." _ I felt a jolt of pain ripped though my chest when Warden Pope said informed Bellick of this, but it was replaced by a feeling of shock and coldness as I felt something being dropped into my hand.

"Close your hand." Scofield whispered, I opened it just enough so I could see what he slipped into my palm; an origami bird…again. "Put it in your pocket."

"_But if word gets out that a woman has committed suicide within the prison; I'll loose my job." _The warden finished. Scofield's hand slipped from mine and he held it down by his side as Bellick grunted in reply; I quickly slipped the paper into my pocket.

"You got it Boss." He grunted again, I quickly locked eyes with Scofield again as Bellick began to push me out of the door; he gave me a look, it was stern…yet calm, and nodded his head slightly. "Move it, Boswell."

I sat against the cell wall as I listed to the inmates jeer towards me, screaming and yelling and calling my name. They seemed to be congratulating me on the murder of my cell mate; it was all too much to take in. I was probably the first woman, ever in history, to be put in an all male prison, but it was illegal; and once I got outta here, and it would be before fifteen years was up…I was suing these bastards for false imprisonment and the intent to conspire; when I got outta here…I was gonna write the article of the century. I let a few silent tears trickle down my cheeks as I shoved my hands into my pockets, remembering the incident in the office with Scofield; I pulled the paper bird from my pocket. It didn't look like anything had been done to it; maybe it was just a way to make me feel better. Then I remembered, I never looked at the first one. Sniffling some tears back, I wiped my nose and took the first bird from my pocket; it was the same, normal. But, maybe not; I unfolded the creases and opened the bird, my brows knitting together in confusion as I looked at the handwriting on the inside of the paper.

"_Can I trust you?" _I read silently, I licked my lips and wiped my cheeks free of the tears before opening the second bird. _"I know what happened."_ I leaned my head back against the wall and shut my eyes as more tears flowed; he knew I was innocent, he knew why I did what I did…he could help me.

**Additional A/N: I apologize for the OOCness of Warden Pope's character; but come one, he felt betrayed…and he didn't want to loose his job. That's why he's keeping her there. **


	12. The Fifth Commandment

**A/N: Thank you, thank you, thank you for all the reviews/subscriptions/and alerts! It really means a lot to me! I'm terribly sorry that I didn't get this chapter out sooner; I have been swamped with school work lately, and I was experiencing a tad-bit of writers block! **

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does don't belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

_Day 5, I guess now would be a good time to share my newest experience in this place; I'm officially an inmate at Fox River Penitentiary. This is no longer an act, it suffices to say that no one will ever find out about the horrible crime that I committed, not unless Warden Pope and anyone else involved in helping me with this "article" wanted to spend the rest of their life in prison too. Well, I'm not actually spending the rest of my life, just fifteen years, with good behavior…maybe twelve tops. I've cried a lot over the last couple of hours; just thinking about everything that I'll never get the experience…I'll be thirty- nine when I'm finally released. That's fifteen years wasted because of a decision I made to protect myself. _

The led tip of the wooden pencil broke the snap seeming to echo off the walls of the quite wing of gen pop. I sighed and tossed the pencil to the side, keeping my knees drawn up to my chest as I leaned my head against the walls; I could feel the lump in my throat rising again. I mostly cried when none of the other inmates were around, especially T-Bag, he seemed to always show up when I let my guard down. I squeezed my eyes shut and clenched my hands into fists as I took a deep breath though my nose, I could feel my eyes water as I opened them. Looking, across the small cell at the brick wall; I'd been sitting in the same spot since I was put back in my cell late last night. I was on watch, suicide watch to be exact, and I would be lying if I said that the thought hadn't crossed my mind many a time over the past day and a half. I had a pencil, one stab though the heart or the neck and it would all be over, metal and brick surrounded me…along with a metal toilet; enough blows to the head with one of those things and I'd have a concussion or at least a brain hemorrhage in no time; anything to escape the taunts of the inmates as they walked past my cell, their beady eyes burned into my brain with such intensity, I could barely sleep, I could barely think. A sudden buzz filled the room; signaling that the inmates were coming back from lunch, I hadn't been allowed to partake in any of the daily routines; I was locked in here like an animal, eyes always on me. This is were I spent my day, writing and writing, by the time I got out of this place I will have written a whole book; not just a fifteen page article.

I passed the lunch try that was next to me though the bars as the younger CO took it from the ground, trying to give me a sympathetic look. I ignored it, like I did every time someone tried to give me sympathy. As much as I wanted it in here, as much as I wanted someone I could trust…I was in prison, and I had to accept that everyone was in here for one reason or another, but they all had one thing in common; they couldn't be trusted. I thought back to Scofield, yeah, when was I ever going to learn his first name, huh? Maybe he was the one person in here I could trust, _I know what happened_, but, if he knew what happened…why didn't he vouch for me? Why didn't he stand up and say that I didn't do it. I got up from my place on the floor and paced to the bottom bunk, sitting down slowly as the events from earlier on in the week rushed though my head. I suddenly got up, I could still feel his breath against my skin; my hand shook, I closed my eyes and walked towards the desk, deciding that it was a more comfortable place to sit anyway, it was farther way from the cell door at least. It didn't take me much time to notice the look on Scofield's face as he walked by the cell door, I went to stand up, thinking that maybe he had answers for me. He looked angry about something; I watched a man walk behind him; a notepad and pen held in hand as he followed Scofield, his eyes were crazed and the look on his hair stuck up in odd places. His feet shuffled along the concrete floor, the soles of his shoes sanding the pebbles. My brows knitted together, curious, I got up from my spot at the end of the cell and walked towards the open cell doors. The crazed man had stopped right in front of my cell, still facing the steps that Michael had just ascended in order to reach his cell. The man mumbled quietly…but I couldn't quite figure out what he was saying. I continued to walk further, just until I was standing on the outside, CO's not too far away.

Suddenly, the man turned to me. I jumped slightly, his lips to moving in an inaudible whisper; they moved slowly, his teeth dragging across his bottom lip slowly. His hands held the sketch pad close to himself as he walked towards me; I suddenly became paralyzed, my eyes staying focused on the tip of the pen that he was holding so tightly in his grasp; I had heard rumors of someone from the "Whack-Shack" had been readmitted to Gen-Pop…this must have been the guy. He stopped a few inches from me, his face leaning close to mine, before he turned his body towards the row of cells on the second level, his brown beady eyes darting to cell forty, his cell…and Scofield's. I guess The Warden figured that he was the only inmate that could handle this guy. I held a breath, my hands ready to push him away at any second.

"He's got a maze on his skin." He whispered, his finger pointing towards Scofield in a flash; I knitted my brows together and looked at the man in that was leaning towards me again, his notebook held in his hands as he showed me the picture; it was very detailed, almost like Picasso or Van Gough had risen from the dead and erected the picture it's self.

"What?" I whispered back, still not understanding how this pertained to the quiet man that was now standing at his cell door, a look of fear and desperation flashed though his eyes at the moment I looked back up at him, then back down at the picture.

"Scofield," he ripped the notebook out of my eye sight before holding it close to his body again, "He's got a maze on his skin. Why-why would he do that?" he continued to rant, is eyes bulging from his head as he looked back down at the picture, his pen moving over the sheet fast as he began to finish his masterpiece. I looked up again as the crazed man walked away from me, whispering to himself as he ascended the stairs; my eyes quickly caught a glimpse of Scofield's arms as he pulled the gray long sleeved shirt down over his intricate tattoos that I had noticed on him earlier; for some reason…the man's picture began to become all the clearer to me. His eyes adverted from mine as Abruzzi approached him, his eyes drifted over mine in a suspicious manner, and I took that as my cue to stop eaves dropping. I had just begun to walk back into my cell before I felt a hand on my shoulder; I turned around with a start, my heart beating against my chest and my mouth open ready to scream at a moment notice. I ripped out of the person's grasp, the bun in my hair loosening as I starred wide eyes at…the CO, he was a young guy; couldn't have been much older than I was. I closed my eyes, and placed a hand over my heart; trying to contain the erratic movements that my heart was making at the moment.

"I'm sorry-"I smiled at the man's sincere apology as I dropped the hand from my chest, letting it fall down by my side. But, the man's apology was cut short as Bellick intervened. He grunted in response at the man's kindness, and pushed past him; a clear plastic tub held in his hands. I looked down at the plastic tub, not understanding what this meant. He shoved the tub towards me, my hands barely grabbing a hold of it before it could clammier to the ground.

"Get you stuff." My heart beat and my eyes lit up momentarily; I was getting out of here. I didn't smile, not wanting to tip any of the inmates off at my impending "escape". Relief washed over me; I knew The Warden would come though, he must have thought about the circumstance…maybe Scofield did tell him the truth. I nodded and hurriedly rushed into the cell, grabbing the journal and pencil from the desk I shoved them into the bin; a smile plastered to my face, I had never been so happy. Just as I was about to step from the cell, already tasting the freedom on my tongue, I could feel it in my bones, smell it in the air; Bellick stopped me, pointing to the top bunk. "Pillow and blanket." He ordered, I reluctantly walked over and grabbed the two items from the top bunk, placing them in the bin. Maybe they cleaned them after an inmate leaves…

"What's going on?" I asked my voice hopeful as he began to lead me down the rows of cells that lined the bottom level; I could feel my stomach turn as we got closer to the doors; freedom was just around the corner.

"You're gettin' a new cellie." He sneered, my face fell and I could feel the lump forming in my throat already. How could I have been so foolish to think that they would just let me out of prison after I was charged with such things, I could I have been so stupid! I kept my head down as we passed several more cells; each of the inmates standing at their doors, their eyes gleaming hopefully; I couldn't go though this again. My eyes slowly adverted towards as whistle from the other side of the room; his hair stood up in odd places, his beady eyes starring into mine as he leaned up against this cell door coolly; his tongue darted out of his mouth and licked his bottom lip slowly…if I was put in a cell with T-Bag, Warden Pope would fine a dead body the next day; and T-Bag would have been the culprit either…if you get what I'm implying. I ripped my attention away from him as we stopped at a cell towards the end of the wing, my eyes slowly gazed in; an old man sat on the bed, he looked like he was about sixty years old, a cat sat in his lap.

"Westmorland! Got yourself a new cell mate." Bellick announced, shoving me into the cell before walking away. I stood at the cell door awkwardly, holding the plastic bin in my hands. He looked harmless enough; let's just hope that's the case.

"Well, I don't bite." I heard the gruff, old voice trail across the cell. His eyes never looked up from the book that he was holding in his other hand, his other free hand petting the cat that sat on his lap. "You don't mind taking the top do ya? My old knees can't get up there no more." He informed me; the cat slipped from his grasp and meowed as it moseyed on towards me, his purr rattling off my ankle as it rubbed up against me. I smiled down at the small animal. Pushing the bin under the bed, I grabbed the journal and pencil from the plastic tub and placed it under the extra pillow and blanket that I had just earned. The cat continued to pace around my ankles as I walked towards the bed, climbing into the top bunk and laying flat on my back, folding my hands across my stomach; the animal meowed softly.

"Looks like she's taken a liking to you."

I was by no means a religious person; I mean, sure I believed in heaven and hell, god and devil…but I'd never established myself as being part of any type of religious group. I kept my head down as the CO led me towards the small rectory at the other end of the person; it was by my request that I be allowed to spend an hour of my free time in the grace of god. The building was by no means big like a church, and it was not little; it was like the small rectories that you found in a hospital…only bigger. The room was dark and dimly lit as the CO opened the dark oak doors that led into the main room; the priest greeted me with a sympathetic smile, placing a hand on my shoulder as he advised the CO that he had it from here, the man nodded and took his place on the outside of the door.

"Hello Father." I greeted quietly, I couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by the feeling of serenity that washed over me at that very second. The priest smiled at me and took me gently by the arm, leading me towards the front row of pews, I hadn't noticed that the small building was not filled with inmates at all; a few were scattered here and there, most sat in the back, some in the middle, and one man was sitting up front.

"Miss. Boswell," he greeted me quietly back, his hand giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze as we neared the pews at the front. "When you stand praying, if you hold anything against anyone, forgive them, so that your Father in heaven may forgive you your sins." He whispered quietly, I tearfully nodded at him, he nodded back and left me; going about his business to the other prisoners.

I didn't look at the man next to me much as I sat down; his head was bowed towards the floor, his hair shaved, his shoulders broad and heavy, a pair of hand cuffs restraining him from moving. I sniffled a few tears back and knelled, my knees pushing against the padded floor as I bent my head towards the floor, resting my folded hands on the banister of the pew in front of us. "Our father, who art in heaven," I could feel the silent tears falling down my cheeks as I spoke the prayer; the feeling was overwhelming to say the least. I opened my eyes and blinked away the tears, my lips still muttering the holy words "Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses," I felt a strange sense of calmness and anxiousness as my eyes slowly scanned the room; statues of the holy mother and Jesus dying for our sins lined the walls, the stained glass shone colors of bright purple, red, yellow, and green. The angel's trumpets shining in the distant light that shone though the window, I continued with the prayers; the lump in my throat growing by the minute. I hadn't been to church sense my father died, seventeen years ago. Like I said, I wasn't a religious person, but every Sunday morning at nine o'clock sharp; my butt was sitting in the third pew to the right, just in front of the Holy Mother's arms stretched out wide, welcoming us. I could still smell the incense that was always burning, and we were the always the first ones there, always, not matter if we were sick or not…my father could be dying and he wouldn't have missed a day of church. I could almost hear the choir singling Halleluiahs as the doors began to open, letting the rest of the regulars in to worship. My parents had taught me the Ten Commandments; _thou shalt not kill, _commandment five…that was one they never stressed; I would never kill anybody, or anything. Tell you the truth; I was always a bit of a pushover…letting people walk all over me.

A choked sob erupted from my throat as the memories flooded back to be; my Sunday dress, my father's smile as we ate Sunday breakfast with all our friends from the perish, my mothers bright blonde hair that shone in the sun like golden string at the church picnics, my father's nightly bible story. I felt ridiculed as the eyes of the statues fell upon me, their faces concrete and bearing the same look; shame, shame on me from my sins, shame on me for not keeping the Sabbath, shame on me for killing that man. My arms shook as my lips began the second prayer. "Holy Mary, mother of god-" tears slipped down my lips as I lifted my head from his bowing position, giving up on the prayer I sat back against the pew; my hand still folded, my eyes closing as the salty tears slipped into my mouth. I didn't know if I was imaging it or not, but I felt a small nudge on my arm; slowly turning my head, I looked down…a hand was down by my side, the short fingers holding a tissue in-between them. I slowly took the tissue from him, keeping my eyes locked on the empty spot on the pew next to us; I wiped my tears slowly, nodding my head.

"Thanks." I answered, holding the tissue in my fist tightly. I heard the chain rattle as he repositioned himself in the pew, his hands till locked in the prayer position due to the handcuffs.

"No problem." He answered. I recognized his voice from somewhere. It was very masculine, and held no trace of an accent or anything sort of speech impediment. It was husky and low; before I could open my mouth, this voice spoke again. "You're the-"he seemed to pause, choosing his words carefully, "the _woman_," he emphasized the word, "from SHU, right?" he asked. I looked up, my breath catching in my throat at the man that was sitting next to me; he was the whole reason I was here.

"Lincoln Burrows." I stated quietly, my eyes wide with shock. The very reason I was here, the very topic of my article…was sitting right next to me. God really does work in cunning, twisted ways. He bit his tongue, and leaned back in the pew; probably already bored of being known as the man who killed the vice president's brother. He nodded his head, and gestured to his the scene around him. I didn't know what to say, or what to do. Before I knew it the door had opened, the CO's swarming in the collect the inmates; the younger CO from earlier grasped my arm as he pulled me from the seat.

"You're innocent." I said quietly, looking Lincoln straight in the eyes as the young officer led me away from the pew. Lincoln starred after me, his mouth hung open.

"What did you say?" he demanded, his voice held a sense of threat, before I could justify my reasons I was already out of the door.

_Come on mom, pick up the phone._ The small voice inside my head pleaded. My palms grew sweaty with every passing moment, the shrill sound of the ringer echoing in my ear as I listened to it click, then ring…click, ring, click, ring. I bit my bottom lip; wondering if they had even informed her of the incident…did she even know? Or did she still expect me to be home ward bound in two days time. I looked around the yard, keeping my eyes peeled for anyone that may be listening to the conversation at the moment. Nobody was around me; I held the black pay phone closer to my ear, shivering as an unusually cold wind whipped past me.

"_Hello?"_ My blood ran cold, and I sighed with relief as I heard my mother's voice on the other end of the line.

"Mom? Mom, it's me. Erica." My bottom lip quivered slightly, "Mom, I'm so sorry."

I didn't get the reaction I was expecting. _"How could you do this?" _I expected her to be worried, to cry to me on the other end, vow that she's going to do everything in her power to get me out of here; and this is the reaction that I get. _"You told me this wouldn't happen. Do you not remember what happened to your father?"_ her voice was loud and shaking on the other end of the phone. That's why she was upset…she didn't want another repeat of seventeen years ago…

"Mom. They're giving me fifteen years; please you've got to help me." I pleaded; I looked around again, trying to keep my voice down as to keep the other inmates off my trail. My mother sighed on the other end, and a sniffle.

"_You're lucky they didn't give you more than that." _My blood ran ice cold; how could she say this to me?

"Listen, you have to get me a lawyer, please-"

"_I've already spoken to the Warden; visitation is in a few days. But-"_she paused for a minute, I grew nervous.

"What mom?" I pressed, "Mom?" I stomped my foot on the ground, my legs beginning to shake.

"_This can't be taken to court. The Warden- the Warden will loose his job."_ She concluded, _"Mr. Samuels will loose his job; it'll turn into a shit storm that the media will be all over in a heart beat." _Her voice was strained and slow as she explained the implications to me. He's keeping me here…so he doesn't loose his job. _"We'll figure something out, honey, I promise. You hear me?"_

The phone beeped, "Mom?" I frantically asked, her voice became fuzzy as the phone beeped again…the receiver went dead, the dial tone replacing the voice of my mother. I hung the phone up slowly, my hand shaking.

I sat on the bleachers, tears falling freely down my cheeks; no one asked me if I was okay, no one asked if I wanted to talk about it, no one asked if I needed a shoulder to cry on…this was prison; I needed to grow up fast, I needed to build a shell, because there was a very good chance that the only way I was going to get out of here…was in a body bag.

"Well, well, well." The slimy voice hissed, I didn't need to look up to see who it belong to; I already knew it was the very inmate that wanted to kill me, among other things; and right now I was the most vulnerable, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing…he said he'd make it quick, I high doubted that was true. "Kind of uh, reminiscent of our first meetin' now is it?" he asked, hand slimy hand rested on my shoulder, squeezing it. It was a reassuring one; it was a possessive one…like he owned me. I looked at him, catching the quickly once over he gave me before adverting my eyes towards the ground again. His lips were suddenly at my ear, his sticky hot breath traveling into my brain, sticking itself into my memories. I didn't respond, only sat there, my eyes puffy and red from the crying.

"Heard about Jesse's accident, you stuck em' good, Sweetpea." He chuckled and moved a strand of loose hair behind my ear, I shivered in disgust. "That can make a guy go crazy, ya' know that, Sweetpea. Crazy." He bit his bottom lip and sucked on it gently before grabbing my wrist, loosely at first, then tightening it slowly. "Now, you gotta no by now that, a lot of people wanted that bastard dead," he explained, tracing the veins that pulsed on my wrist with his fingers, "but, now," he let out a low chuckle, "they been upstaged by a female, makes them feel less than the other cons in here, Sweetpea." He gestured towards a group of men standing over by door that led back into the prison itself; they seemed to look our way as T-Bag quickly adverted his gaze back to me, smiling.

"But Sweetpea," he sang, "You've always got my offa' you know." With his free hand he pulled the cotton lining from the inside of his pocket, flipping it inside out as he glanced up at me, letting go of my wrist. "Sweetpea, I'm here for you. All you gotta do…is hold my pocket." I was slowly giving up, eyeing the white fabric my mind raced, his ran his fingers over the fabric slowly, biting is bottom lip; both he and Mr. Pope had mentioned that Jesse was a target in here, in prison, it was all about dominance…and would you like it if a woman not even half your size killed a fully grown convicted killer? T-Bag was right, I was trouble. My hand reached out reluctantly, my finger tips reaching for the cotton lining, "That's right, Sweetpea." The tips of my fingers slowly brushed against the lining, swallowing the lump in my throat….

**Additional A/N: Not my best chapter! But I had to get over writers block somehow! Also, I do realize that many scenes that were in the show are out of order here; it will all make sense once the next few chapters come out; I promise. And let me justify the OC's mom's reaction; bottom line, she's mad and she's terrified at the same time (yes, references of her father's death keep being mentioned; they will be cleared up in time). **


	13. A Second Chance

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews! I'm really glad people like this story :) Seriously, expect a lot of updates coming. I want to make up for the lack of not being able to get any out during the week. **

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does don't belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

**Recap**: _"That's right, Sweetpea." The tips of my fingers slowly brushed against the lining, swallowing the lump in my throat…_

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I could only image what my life was going to be like after this, the cotton felt surprisingly soft as the nerves in the tips of my fingers reacted to the strange and comfortable feeling. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see my life go down the drain the instant I tugged on that little piece of fabric…I gasped as I felt a numbing sensation run up my arm, opening my eyes I looked down at my wrist; T-Bag had stepped away a few inches, his face contorted in a scowl. A hand was wound tightly around my wrist; the familiar bar code tattoo that extended across his wrist was in plain view as the sleeve of his shirt lifted slightly. I watched as my finger shook within his grasp, my eyes wide with fear and regret for what I was about to do.

"Leave her alone." Scofield's voice hissed lowly, his hand still clasped around my wrist like a bracelet; I looked up at him, his hand sending shivers up my spine, I couldn't help but noticed the pained and almost fear stricken expression that covered his face; his eyes bore into T-Bags, daring him to make a move. T-Bag licked his lips quickly, anger evident in his features as he stuffed the cotton back into his pocket.

"What, Sweetpea, you tuggin' on Pretty's pocket now, huh?" he spat, T-Bag eyed me with an awaiting stare as I sat on the edge of the bleachers, inching my self closer and closer to a way to get out of this situation I was in. He licked his lips hurriedly, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he backed away. Scofield continued to stare after him, warning and daring him to try something, his lips seemed to twitch into a knowing smirk as he watched T-Bag retreat.

"Mark my words Pretty," he pointed a finger at me, "You too, Sweetpea, you're mine." He continued to back away, his walk fast and unevenly paced as he glanced back at us a few times, a scowl still playing on his features. I let out a sigh of relief and glanced down at the hand that was still wrapped around my wrist, his knuckles turning white; the hand began to slowly unravel, releasing me.

"What did you think you were doing?" He asked harshly, dropping my wrist slowly, almost too reluctantly; like he didn't want to let go of me. I looked up at him, my eyes brimming with tears, yet again; you'd think I wouldn't have any left…considering that all I seemed to be doing is cry most of the time. I shook my head, folding my hands in my lap. There were no words to describe what I was about to do, what I almost did; it was stupid, and foolish of me to think that T-Bag would just kill me after having his way…I'd have to kill myself to get away from him.

"I just-"I began, licking my chapped lips and shaking my head, "I just wanted a way out." I concluded, looking up at him; his brows furrowed together suspiciously, his eyes searching mine…like he thought I knew something. I continued to stare at him, his lips pushed in a straight line. His blue eyes bore into my brown ones.

"Dead or alive?" he questioned in a scolding manner, standing stock still as she let his hands find their way into his pockets. I looked down at the grass under the bleachers; I couldn't answer that question, truth be told, I didn't care how I got out of here; alive would have been great, but dead, I'd take that over being ridiculed and having to constantly watch my back.

"Preferably, alive." I answered shortly, my voice slow and low as I lifted my head up, he raised an eyebrow as he watched my eyes advert to T-Bag was standing on the other side of the yard; his small, but surprisingly muscular, frame leaning against the chain link fence. "But, if dead is the only way…" my voice trailed off as I let out a long sigh, turning back to Scofield. He looked deep in thought as he scraped the toe of his boot across the grass, seeming to dig it up from the small roots up. He suddenly lifted his head, his chest rising and falling in one swift movement.

"I need to know if I can trust you." He said lowly, stepping towards me; we were almost chest to chest when I stood up from the bleachers; he towered over me by at least a foot. His voice was low and husky, his blue eyes pleading. I continued to look up at him, relieved that the sun had moved behind the clouds, keeping their blinding rays at bay.

"I don't understand you." I answered, searching his face for any kind of emotions; but there were not. It was almost like it was stuck in the same blank expression all the time, his eyes did all the talking.

"What's there to understand?" I could see his eyebrow quirk slightly, like he was surprised by my somewhat rude comeback; his lips still stayed in the same straight line, his body still, breathing still at an even pace.

"You're-"I stopped short, no being able to find the right words to describe him, "You're-there's more to you than anyone here can see," I studied his face; his lips twitched. Maybe I'd finally gotten to him. "You speak and-and communicate in these cryptic languages and just expect people to understand you," my jaw worked furiously, trying to find more words to say, my chest rose and fell quickly; my shook slowly. Scofield's eyes slowly looked up, adverting to a figure that was standing behind me; I could feel his presence, occupied by the sound of pen soaring across paper. I slowly turned my body, just enough to gaze at the man that was scribbling furiously in his notepad; my eyes slowly, and discretely scanned the tattoos peeking from beneath Scofield's shirt. My eyes landed on the barcode tattoo…what does one need that for? I slowly looked back up at Scofield, his eyes were angered and slightly dazed, he looked back at me taking a deep breath.

"Look, can I trust you or not?" he asked quickly, his voice pained and filled with emotion this time; the presence of the insane man with the notepad seemed to make him nervous. I opened my mouth; the first answer that popped into my head was ready to leave my mouth, a confused expression on my face.

"I want back in." my attention snapped towards the male voice that had just interrupted my conversation; he was tall, but a few inches shorter than Scofield. His head was shaved, like most of the inmates, but his accent was thick. Scofield turned towards him, his fists shaking down by his sides as, his eyes full of…so many emotions I can't even name them all. "Excuse me, _mami_." The accented man, he sounded Mexican, turned Scofield around by his shoulder and began to drag him away; his mouth frantically moving as Scofield answered him with short answers, they were too far away for even my sharp ears to hear what they were saying. Scofield glanced back in my direction several times as he spoke to the man, a minute later the man had embraced him in a hug. His smile bright and too happy for someone that was stuck in prison for god knows how long.

"Did you see them?" came a soft voice; it was quick, deliberately emphasizing the word 'them'. I looked next to me, only to find the prison's resident artist standing by my side, his notebook held close to his chest as she glanced in Scofield's direction.

"See who?" I asked cautiously. He rolled his eyes slightly and shoved the note book into my hands.

"Them. The daemons leading to the pathway." I slowly, lifted the page he was working on and glanced at the page underneath of it, another very detailed and well drawn image snarled up at me, I flipped though the pages, one by one; admiring the work.

"These are good." I answered, handing the notebook back to him. I looked in Scofield's direction, watching him as he gave me a pained look, yet again. The man next to me nudged my arm, I stiffened slightly at his tough; he was frightening to say the least, but I couldn't help but feel bad for him. He ignored my compliment and continued on with his drawing, flipping to the current page again.

"Why does he have it on his skin?" he began to mumble, walking away from me. The buzzer signaling the end of yard time rang; Scofield watched as I stood there for a moment, staring at him from across the exceptionally long distance that was between us. The roles should have been reversed…could I really trust him, was the real question.

I rested my head against the wall of the cell, Westmorland's cat curled up beside me; warming my cold side as I slowly petted the fur coat that covered the animal. I suppressed a yawn as the cat laid its head in my lap, causing a smile to creep up onto my face slowly. Westmorland reminded me a lot of my father; always keeping to himself and reading, he seemed to be well respected in the prison. I cleared my throat as I stood up, picking the cat up gently and walking the short distance to the bottom bunk where Westmorland sat there, reading silently. He looked up from his book, placing a piece of paper into the page to mark where he had stopped; he turned to me and took the cat gently from my arms, the animal went willingly, purring happily as her owner ruffled her fur with love.

"How'd you manage to get her in here?" I asked, brining my legs up onto the bed so I could sit Indian style. So many memories of my childhood ran though my mind; Christmas morning, thanksgiving, Easter, Halloween…everything came flooding back at once.

"The grandfather clause." He answered, his voice ringing with happiness as he continued to pet the cat slowly, a smile on his face as he looked up at me, it suddenly fell. "Dammit. Why'd they have to put you in this prison?" he asked his voice suddenly harsh.

I looked at him, taken back by his sudden anger. I looked down at my lap, listening to him as he continued with his rant.

"I'm sorry." He apologized, closing his eyes and setting a hand on my shoulder; I looked up at him and nodded. "It's just- I have a daughter too, you-"he let out a deep sigh before finish his sentence, "you remind me a lot of her. Your father must be worried sick about you." I looked down at the sheets again, biting my lip slightly trying to keep the memories submerged in the suppressed memories; I tried hard to forget all about it.

"My uh-"I began to explain, clearing my throat, "My dad died, seventeen years ago." I finished. He looked at me sympathetically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry." He apologized, again, looking at me. I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head, pushing the lump in my throat down. "If you don't mind me asking what-"His question was cut short by a fearful yell coming from the top row of cells opposite of us.

"Officer! I need an Officer!" the voice yelled, I rushed from my spot on the bed, the top of my head barely missing the springs of the top mattress. I grabbed onto the bars and watched with growing fear as the CO's raced towards Scofield's cell. I could tell that that the frantic voice was coming from Scofield's own mouth, not his cellmates. The rest of the inmates were all at their cell doors, rattling and shaking the bars; egging on the fight that could break out at any moment.

"It's a pathway to hell!" the crazed voice screamed, "It's a pathway to hell! He's taking us to hell!" the voice repeated, screaming as they CO's began to drag him down the stairs; he locked eyes with me as they continued to drag him away. He pointed in my direction, my breath hitching in my throat. "Ask her! She's seen it too! Don't let him take you to hell! Ask her, she'll tell you!" he screamed, I backed away from the metal bars, Westmorland standing behind me; Marilyn, his cat, held tightly in his arms. The CO' looked at me and grunted before, shoving the man away towards the door, his arms flailing and snapping at everyone.

"Move it, Haywire!" His screams continued to echo off the walls as he protested, screaming at the top of his lungs about pathways, daemons, and hell. I moved closer to the cell door, glancing up at Scofield's cell. He stood outside his cell, blood dripping for his forehead, his eyes catching mine.

I lay therein the dark, Westmorland's slight snoring filling the cell, my hands folded behind my head as my mind raced. Haywire's words echoing in my mind_, it's a pathway to hell_, images of Scofield's tattoo ran though my mind, bits and pieces of them finally beginning to make sense. I knitted my brows together as an awful voice began to echo off the walls, it sounded like he was trying to sing in Spanish, and it was too loud, too loud of a singing voice to be normal. I rolled over onto my stomach as a few inmates began to shout at the voice…it was coming from Scofield's cell, but I could tell it wasn't Scofield…maybe his Mexican friend from earlier? 'Shut the fuck up' 'Yo, man shut your mouth' and variations of the phrase be quiet floated though the air as the inmates began to get riled up, but, the singing voice only grew louder; it sounded like a zoo. Westmorland grunted, and I could hear the mattress creak as he changed his position. I continued to listen, my eyes staying focused on the cell; something was going on in there…something they didn't want the others to know about.

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**Additional A/N: Takes place during "Cute Poison". Getting closer to the riot :) Yes, I will be writing that scene…it isn't Prison Break without it. **


	14. Something in Common

**A/N: I'm getting close to my goal of updating this weekend! Thanks for all the reviews; once again, I appreciate them!**

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does don't belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

I sat with Westmorland at one of the small picnic like tables that were scattered among the yard; the inmates went about their business, moving into their cliché cliques, some heading to the small basketball court, others deciding to work on their physique at the small out door weightlifting area. I jotted notes down in the small notepad that rested on my lap, Westmorland sat across from me, his nose yet again immersed in another book; it was different from the one he was reading yesterday. I glanced behind me, watching the few inmates that were being guarded by a CO behind the mesh fence; they were some type of cleaning crew, assigned to do the dirty work that the state would otherwise have to pay professionals to do with tax payers dollars, not wanting to anger the good people of Illinois, they settled for paying inmates to work, they believed it kept them out of trouble. I watched the four men as they worked, my suspicions were high; Scofield, Lincoln Burrows, John Abruzzi, and Scofield's Mexican friend all worked together, their eyes occasionally looking up to meet each others in a knowing glance. Something was going on, I could just feel it. I watched as one by one, each of them began to retreat to the shed for some reason or another. They were up to something, something big. Something that was going to change everyone's life that was within the prison walls. I jotted this down in my notebook; I didn't know how to label what they were up to, it was much of a conspiracy at this point. What did a mob-boss, the supposed killer of the Vice President's brother, and two average Joes have in common? Nothing too particular came to my mind at that moment.

It was close to lunch hour, Westmorland was resting against the mattress; his eyes closed as he hummed a soft tune, Marilyn curled up next to him, purring happily. Sat on the top bunk of the beds, my head resting against the white pillow as I starred at the journal that was hovering close to my face, rereading the almost thirty plus pages that were filled to top and bottom with writing. I looked at the date, surprised, it seemed like I had been in here longer than six days. I scoffed, filliping the page and looking at the backside…life was funny. Six days ago, that's almost a week; I was free woman, free of a conscience, free of guilt, free of fear. I had everything to live for, my family, my future job, my friends…I couldn't believe that one mistake could derail your life in an instant. I was supposed to be released tomorrow; taken away from Jesse's cell with no warning, and whisked away to a "female penitentiary" in New York; it'd never see any of these inmates again. Now, I was stuck here for the next fifteen years of my life. I looked at the date again, Lincoln Burrows was supposed to be executed in three weeks time; I couldn't even get the story that I came here for. I felt like giving up, giving in and just doing my time, people would wonder where I was sure; but my mother would come up with something clever to tell them. I jumped down from the top bunk, pushing the journal under my pillow as the buzzer rang; signaling that lunch was being served. Westmorland stood up slowly, his knees cracking loudly; I was just happy I wasn't going to be as old as him when I was released…if I made it that long. I pulled my hair into a loose bun and walked towards the opened cell doors; a CO would be here soon to escort me to the infirmary so I could take my daily medicine. I stopped short as a few inmates walked in my direction; I hadn't noticed these two before, but, they seemed like bad news…or just worse news than the ones that were already in here.

"Yo, you here about Michael Scofield?" one of them asked, the other man turned his head towards the other inmate and nodded, rubbing his hands together. So that's his first name…

"Guess, Fish, couldn't handle it in here anymore; he's gettin' transferred tomorrow."

I could feel my blood stop in my veins, my mouth becoming dry, and my fingers shake as I watched the inmates laugh off the information they had just divulged; their heavy footsteps echoing off the concrete floor as the CO's rounded the inmates up for lunch. Transferred; a sense of fear suddenly washed over me, I couldn't even begin to explain how many times Michael had saved my life already, since day one he seemed to be the one, and only, person that wanted to help me though this…even when I wasn't a real inmate he was always there. I don't want to sound clingy or possessive…but he couldn't leave; without Michael here, T-Bag would get what he wanted. I didn't even realize that I was already being led towards the infirmary until; the buzzer on the door rang.

I seemed to be leading the CO towards the mess hall, more than he was leading me. My steps were long and quick, I had to get the scoop on why he was leaving; and what better place to find it than the mess hall. As soon as the handcuffs were off of me, I picked up my pace towards the line, noticing an empty space behind Michael. I slipped into line coolly, grabbing a tray as I did so; I recoiled in disgust, as always, as the meal was slapped down on my plate, the smell flowing up my nose and making my stomach turn inside out. Just as we reached the end of the line, I held my tray in one hand balancing it with great experience; I was waitress in high school, I reached out with my other hand, grabbing a hold of Michael's elbow. He turned around slowly, his eyes grazing over mine.

"You're leaving?" I asked, my voice small, my eyes pleading with his. He sighed and turned to walk, stopping, almost like he was waiting for me to follow him. Our feet began to carry us though the mess hall, slowly.

"Don't believe everything you hear." He informed me, looking my way; a small smile playing at his lips, almost as if he knew the very reason why I asked him. "I'm not going anywhere." I could feel my cheeks become hot as he smirked in my direction; I tried to hide my smile. He just knew everything, even if he didn't know it…somehow he still did. I shook my head, my eyebrows rising.

"How are you go-"I bean to ask, wanting to know how and why he was so sure of himself staying put in this prison. I high doubted it was because of my wellbeing, but a girl can wonder right? Before I could get my full question out, Abruzzi had butted into our conversation.

"You know, I'm having a real hard time trusting you, Fish." His low voice rang, I looked up at him; my brows furrowing, confused. Maybe having Michael around was a bad thing? Suddenly, a light bulb clicked in my head. This must be it, Michael owes the Abruzzi crime family money; I scoffed inwardly and continued to stare at Abruzzi. His eyes flashed to mine as I continued to stand there, awkwardly scuffling my feet. Michael looked at me quickly, his eyes full of wonder.

"Run along, this is adult talk." Abruzzi snapped at me, grabbing Michael's shoulder and roughly turning him around. Michael, not being one for conflict, let the man treat him roughly. Then again, apparently Michael had something that Abruzzi needed…or it was the other way around, I couldn't tell. I held the tray in my hands, knuckles turning white; where the sudden burst of courage came from beats me, but I stalked after them, hot on their heels as I tried to listen to the conversation.

"_The important thing is that we stay on schedule." _I heard Michael explain, on schedule with what. I picked up my pace, holding the tray out in front of me, my eyes locked on the back of their heads.

"_Yeah? English, Fitz, or Percy?" _ I furrowed my brows together; there goes that cryptic language again. I shook my head, apparently I was privileged enough to even be divulged with such lintel, neither of them had-

"I said beat it, kid!" Abruzzi snapped suddenly, his whole body turned towards me. His light blue eyes, blazing with undeniable rage, his finger pointed towards the back of the mess hall; the other inmates had stopped eating to watch the ordeal. Michael turned and looked back at me; my eyes stayed focused on Abruzzi as he jerked his head in the direction he was pointing in, "Don't make me tell you again." Without another word he turned Michael around, and continued on their quick walk though the mess hall.

I slammed the tray down onto the table, mumbling things under my breath as I roughly took a seat on the other side of Westmorland. He cautiously looked up from the book he was reading, his eyes looked surprised as I grabbed the roll that was sitting on the edge of the tray, my mouth violently tearing at the wheat; swallowing hard I took a gulp of my milk. Shaking my head, I threw the sculpted piece of dough onto the tray; having lost my appetite. I inwardly scoffed, resting my elbows on the table and closing my eyes as my forehead connected with my folded hands. I could see Westmorland reopen the book he had been reading, ignoring his food as he let out a sigh.

"You alright?" he asked, "You seem a little, upset." I nodded and lifted my forehead from my hands and looked at him.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm fine." I answered, I could faintly see two figures standing almost directly behind Westmorland and I; my peripheral vision caught the slow movements of one person. I was surprised to see Michael's figure gently seat it's self down across from me. I looked at him suspiciously, before adverting my gaze to the mush that sat on my plate; my fork absent mindedly moving the contents around the plastic ware.

"Afternoon, Mr. Scofield." Westmorland seemed surprised by the extra guest at the table; he looked up from his book once again, his eyes peering from over his glasses. I rested one elbow on the table, my head leaning against my open hand as I continued to look at the food.

"I need to know if there's anyway to block a transfer order." The pure sincerity of Michael's voice sent a cell though my body, I looked up from the food; my expression confused and shocked. I mean, I didn't want him to be transferred, then again, if I had a transfer order pending on me…I would take it in a heart beat. Westmorland snorted in response, a dry laugh coming from his throat, he removed his glasses and looked at Michael.

"There's about fifty ways." He informed him, I forked a piece of what looked like broccoli into my mouth before chewing it slowly; pretending that I wasn't listening, but, I knew neither of them were that stupid.

"Alright, I'll take the quickest." Michael crossed his arms over his chest. He was serious, there was no denying that. I finally swallowed the small amount of food that was in my mouth before taking a slow sip of my milk. Westmorland sighed and pushed his tray away from him so he could fold his arms on top of the table.

"You file a motion for what they call an interlocutory injunction." He explained I knitted my brows together; this man had defiantly been in here way too long.

"How long does that take?" Michael asked quickly, his eyes pleading and interested. Westmorland smirked and scooted closer to Michael.

"How fast can you write?" he smiled, "A man can claim almost anything violates his constitutional rights. Theres environmental issues, allergies, religious requirements; take your pick." Michael looked straight ahead as the old man explained the various reasons for not being transferred…and it made me wonder; if it was so easy to stop a transfer…would it be just as easy to get transferred?

"What if they don't buy it?" Michael pushed, I took another bite of the food; forcing myself to swallow the last of the broccoli before moving on to…well, I'm not really sure what it was. I just had to make myself look busy.

"Doesn't matter," Westmorland shook his head, "Court's required by law to hear your motion. Till they do, "he paused, "you can't be transferred."

"Hell," he laughed, nudging my arm. I looked at the old man and smiled, it was really hard to be upset when you're around a spirit like him, he was carefree and calm about everything; it just radiated out of him. "They're been trying to move my tired gray behind for the last ten years. God bless the American legal system." I scoffed at his last phrase, flicking the empty milk carton with my finger, watching as it toppled down into the rest of the mess that littered the tray. Michael smirked in my direction as I crossed my arms across my chest before diverting his attention back to Westmorland.

"Why do you want to stay in here so badly?" he asked, curiousness laced every word. Westmorland smiled and looked down at his lap, pulling Marilyn up; I hadn't even noticed her sitting there, she was quite a quiet cat.

"There's someone here I can't bear to leave behind." He ruffled the cat's fur lovingly. I smiled and looked back down at the table, before gripping the tray; reading to take it up to the trash and wait the rest of lunch out. I looked up, feeling eyes watching my every movement; I should have known who it was. Michael's eyes studied mine for a minute, his lips twitching into a small smile.

"I guess that means we've got something in common." He answered, slowly pushing himself up from his seat at the table; I continued to stare after him as he walked away, leaving my dumbfounded. He glanced over his shoulder as he walked towards another table farther away; I noticed that that's where his Mexican friend sat. I was finding it very hard to believe that I was the reason behind his fight to stall the transfer…then again, maybe I was. I shook the assumptions off and looked back at my plate of food, still confused.

**A/N: Again…not one of my best chapters. I truly apologize to everyone for the lack of updates this weekend; I didn't anticipate the amount of homework that I had to get done. This was actually one of the shortest chapters I've written…only five pages long. I usually try and make them six to seven pages! And I apologize for the lack of originality within this one. Anyways, hope you guys enjoyed it :)**


	15. Get the Pig

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews :) Sorry I didn't get a chapter out earlier this week (I've had a test every single day, and was just too tired to type!) and I've had a bit of writers block. Contains elements of "English, Fitz, or Percy" and "Riots, Drills and the Devil (Part 1)"**

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does don't belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

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Count went by without a problem; I had to admit, I was getting used to the constant noise; I could actually sleep though it now. I was getting used to the constant check up's and counts, the constant threats and fights…soon enough I would totally immune to it; but, I better not get my hopes up. I smiled from within, my lips twitching momentarily as Bellick walked past Westmorland and I's cell, his pen ran over the paper quickly; calling off our names one by one before continuing off towards the other row of cells. Tomorrow as visitation, and knowing my mother, she had a plan already figured out…or at least I hope she did. I looked down at the concrete floor and sighed, scuffing my shoes on the gray face. My finger nails tore at the cuticles, tearing the skin. Visitation was more than fifteen hours away and I was already nervous. I wondered if my mom had brought a lawyer along; maybe even my cousin, Charles, he was a lawyer in Boston…he'd be willing to do a favor for a family member, right? Was Mr. Samuels going to accompany her, I mean, he was just as much of a reason why I was here right now , as I and Warden Pope were. I tapped my foot on the ground, holding my hands behind my back and rocking back and forth on my heels. My mind drifted back to lunch; _I guess that means we've got something in common. _I had let my self dwell on that single comment for most of the day; I just couldn't figure out what he meant by it…maybe he did know my secret, maybe he wanted me to help in out of here; that's why I'm such a valuable asset. I scoffed at the thought; once I was out of here he'd want me to write a giant, persuasive article, pleading his innocence and freedom. Westmorland bumped his elbow against my arm; I snapped my head up from my trance, blinking a few times.**

"You find something interesting to look at down there?" he chuckled gesturing towards the floor with a nod of his head, "Cause, I know I don't see anything worth concentrating on." I smiled slightly, Marilyn mewed in his arms; opening them slightly she leapt from them and pranced back into the cell behind us. I opened my mouth to try and produce a witty comeback for the old man, but a booming voice fro the top row of cells roared though the room, rattling the bars.

"We got a runner!" suddenly, the shrill sound of the whistle tore though the hall. CO's scrambled and alarms blared as we were ordered back into our cages. I went willingly, keeping my eyes on the Billy sticks that each of them wielded. I had seen too many ordeals where they had to be used; the protest in Washington D.C four years ago was just one of the prime examples of what those could do to people…in a way, they were more dangerous than guns. Not a moment later, the inmates erupted into a fit of yells and cheering. I had gathered that it was quite a big deal when an inmate had to guts to run, to try and break out of a prison as dangerous as this. Westmorland sat on the bottom bunk, Marilyn's soft snoozing could not be heard over the ruckus as the inmates continued to pound and shake the cell doors with enthusiasm. I stayed positioned by the door, watching the chaos unfold; CO's scrambled back and forth down the rows, attempting to quite the calls.

"Westmorland," I asked, my voice just a small squeak over the noise; I walked and stood closer to him so he could understand my words. "Has anyone ever broken out of here before?" I asked, leaning against the cell wall. He massaged his temples slowly, the glasses falling down his nose.

"No." he simply answered, his eyes adverting towards the outside of the cell, "No, one's been that lucky yet…don't get your hopes up." I nodded in thanks for his answers and stalked towards the cell door once more; my feet carried me slowly. Then who was dumb enough to try and escape…who has that much confidence in their running and planning skills that would ever attempt such a feat. _I need to know if there's anyway to block a transfer order._ My mouth dropped open slowly, a dry laugh emitting fro my throat, I scoffed.

"Michael." I whispered, shaking my head. I guess I wasn't the reason for him staying here.

My eyes stayed towards the ground, mostly because the sun was unusually bright that day, and because of the man that now walked down the concrete walkway just outside of the mesh fence separating the inmates from the outside world. Chains were locked around his ankles, the links clicking across the ground; the sound echoed in the wind. Michael had been the one that tried to "escape"; and it seemed clearer than ever at this moment that he was indeed being transferred to a new prison. I heart clenched in my chest; I know I didn't know him, hell, I didn't even know why he was in this prison…but I felt safe around him. I didn't feel like I had to watch by back, or cower in fear when he was around. Suddenly, the agonizing sense of vulnerability washed over me as he neared the end of the walkway. His hands rested in front of him, linked together by the metal cuffs. It was hard to notice how Abruzzi and Michael's Mexican friend hung around the fence, glaring at him as he walked by. I watched in silence, as Westmorland did; I felt I could learn a few tips from the old man…apparently if he had last thirty years in this place, he'd have some good advice. My eyes stayed connected to the back of his head, but, he never turned to acknowledge any of us who had gathered to watch him leave. Westmorland sighed heavily and began to retreat towards the small picnic table that he always occupied during yard; I swallowed the lump that was forming in my throat, forcing it back down into the pit of my stomach before joining Westmorland. For some reason, I now felt that these were going to be the longest fifteen years of my life.

**The next day**

_I didn't realize how early it was when I opened my eyes; no sun streamed though the curtains, no soothing sounds of the morning cartoons sounded though the home, and no intoxicating smell of chocolate chip pancakes, scrambled eggs, and linked sausage floated though the vents that seemed to come directly into my room. My slipper clad feet barely made a sound on the hardwood floor as I bounded towards my window that was covered light pink curtains; I ripped them opened, my eyes greeted with a sky pained in colors of purple, pink, yellow, and orange as the sun began to rise over the neighborhood. Even though the Disney alarm clock on my white nightstand read five-thirty AM, I was still as excited as ever; I was even more surprised that I could even sleep after the news I had gotten last night. My dad was coming back from an assignment in China, one of the many that he seemed to take on a regular basis. I left the blinds open, the small castle shaped wind chine that was worn with age silently rang as the curtains rippled. My eyes adverted to the display of paper that lined the top of my dresser; small origami birds, frogs, snails, and the occasional horse lined the top of the white piece of furniture. I picked up the one farthest to the right, but very gently; it was the first origami piece that my father had given me, it was purple; my favorite color at the time, the creases were worn and faded, some ripped, but, it still brought the same smile to my face every time…_

I awoke with a start; a jolt of pain surged though my heart, a buzzing filled my ears. It took my eyes several seconds to recognize the outline of the ceiling, every crack and dirty particle seemed to be in place. I blinked several times before stretching and trying to get rid of the knots that had wiggled their way into the small of my back. I yawned, hearing Westmorland's mattress creek from under mine. I bit my lip as I propped myself up on the elbows, staring blankly at the wall. Visitation was today, I wasn't sure if it was such a good thing anymore. I mean, of course it was a good thing to be able to see my mother, but, on the other hand…it would make things all the more worse if nothing could be done about my current situation. Slipping from the top bunk I quickly laced up the hideous shoes that were provided for me and sat on the edge of Westmorland's bunk as he laced up his own boots.

"Ya' look a little down." He stated, grunting as he bent his back into and upright position, the old bones creaking loudly. "Something on your mind?" I shook my head, and wiped my face with the back of my hand; small beads of moisture stained my hand. Was it me…or was it abnormally hot in here? I closed my eyes as several beads of sweat cascaded down my forehead, landing right on my eyebrow. I wiped my eyes slowly and looked up at Westmorland.

"No, no." I answered, trying to muster a smile. He looked at me with growing concern, his arms encircling Marilyn's furry figure as she hopped into his lap. "It's just-"

"Boswell." I snapped my head in the direction of the open cell door; my hand instantly wiping the sweat off my brow once again. "You got a visitor." Westmorland gave me a pat on the back as I slowly got up from the bunk and awaited the metal restraints, my mind welcomed the cold on my wrists; it was just too damn hot in here today. Maybe it was worth a mention; Michael's plea to say in Fox River wasn't denied after all…something was going on; and since I am a journalist. I shifted my leg in a certain way, checking to make sure that my notepad was still protected. After fifteen years…I'm gonna have one hell of an article to write.

The door buzzed as the CO opened it; my eyes first gazed at the three people that were stained closest to the door. It was Lincoln Burrows, a woman, and another man; they all look up upon the arrival of another inmate, both of the other's expressions seemed to change from their serious facades to a more surprised one when they looked upon me. Lincoln looked at me suspiciously for a few seconds before turning back towards the woman; they spoke in hushed tones. I quickly adverted my eyes to two other people that sat on the other side of the room; tears sprang to my eyes. My mothers blonde hair bobbed behind her, the gray tint shining in the light of the room as she rushed towards me, her arms opened wide; the CO yanked on my arm, pulling me to a halt. I let a few tears slip as she finally made it over to me, her eyes red and puffy. Her hands rested on either sides of my face as she placed a few tearful kisses on my forehead, pushing some strands of loose hair away from my eyes; I gave her a tearful smile, my hands shaking within my restraints.

"Will you uncuff my daughter?" My mother's shaky voice demanded, her hands resting on my arms. She looked at the CO, he grunted in reply and forcefully turned me around by the shoulder; the key swiftly moved into the small lock, as soon as it click I spun around, my arms around my mother quicker than lightening. I held her close as I let the bottled up tears spill down my cheeks, she kissed my cheek several times, hold me tighter each time.

"Oh, honey. Are-are you alright?" she asked, concern etched in every word as she held me out in front of her; examining me from head to toe. I nodded tearfully, blinking the unshed ones away so I could see properly. My mother moved out of the way as the other person came forward; her usually tidy and straightened hair was pulled into a high pony tail. I embraced Emily in a long hug, all of us crying. It was a bittersweet moment; my mom, my best friend…this could be one of the last times I ever saw them. We shortly separated. Emily wiped her nose with the back of her hand, forcing her tears to stop.

"Erica, this whole fucking thing is crazy." She shook her head, watching as the CO jerked his head towards the small table.

I nodded, as I began to make my way over to the white table; it was unusually cold in this room…which struck me as odd, since Gen pop was clearly being over heated "I know, I know." I answered, pulling the chair out and sitting down; Emily and my mother did the same on the other side. "I thought you were supposed to be in Mexico?" I asked, my eyes momentarily glanced back in the direction of Lincoln and the other two people; I know I would be able to eavesdrop in a room like this, everything echoed…that's why the talked so lowly.

"Had to come back early." Emily responded, rubbing her hands up and down her arms; trying to warm herself up, "The war down there is getting pretty intense." I nodded, understanding; why did I pick a topic like that? One that I could just abandon when ever I wanted to…

"Where's Mr. Samuels?" I suddenly asked, glancing around the room a couple of times; I wanted to role my eyes as Emily's full attention diverted towards the talking at the front of the room…she had a sore spot for the "bad boy" type. "I thought he would have wanted to come." My mother looked down at her hands that were folded on top of the table, her lips pushed in a straight line.

"He said he was taking a 'vacation'" Emily sighed, slumping down in the seat momentarily before sitting up straight again. That bastard; he was jumping ship so that if anything happened involving the Judicial System, he would be caught in the crossfire…he was saving his own ass and leaving me to the dogs. I scoffed and shook my head, biting my tongue.

"A vacation," I repeated, "are you kidding me?" I shook my head, my eyes rolling up towards the ceiling as I tried to keep the tears at bay once more, "What like Panama, Hawaii…Bora Bora?" I stuttered.

"Try Australia." Emily informed me; my jaw dropped, "Way out of American jurisdiction." She finished, crossing her arms over her chest. That's just great; he knew what had happened, that means…

"So, he knows?" I asked cautiously, my finger nails scraped at my cuticles once more; my nervousness getting the best of me. "Do-do the others know?" I continued, referring the twenty other students that were in the journalism course with me, not to mention the thousands of others that attended the school itself.

"No, no." My mother reassured me, Emily looked in her direction; nodding in agreement. "As far as their concerned you're in the Philippines." I nodded my eyes wide, my teeth tearing at my bottom lip nervously.

"God, Erica," my mother sighed after a few moment of silence, her hand reached across the table; gripping my tightly, the warm and comforting feeling shocked my body…it'd been a long weak since I'd felt this kind of warmth from a person. "What-what happened to you?" my mother asked, almost sounding too reluctant, afraid of what the answer may be.

"They," I began, shaking my head in disbelief, "They accused me of conspiring to murder. And-and actually doing it as a favor for a prisoner…mom," I shook my head again, swallowing hard. "I didn't- I didn't' mean to kill him." I pleaded, looking straight into her eyes; they welled with tears, some slipping from the creases of her eyes.

"They can't keep you in here though…I mean they can't," Emily paused for a few moments; her voice now small and afraid, "right?"

"There are no witnesses." I answered, rubbing my hands on the knees of the dark blue pants. I hadn't eve noticed if either of them had realized the type of garb that I was being forced to prance around in.

"Well, then you've gotta take this to court. They're denying your constitutional rights…" Emily argued, the exact same words repeated in my head; I said the same thing when I met with the Warden about the incident…I was starting to think that those rights that were bestowed upon use at birth were nonexistent within these prison walls.

"We can't take this to trail." My mother closed her eyes; she did that when she was frustrated, "Do I need to spell it out for you? Anybody involved would loose their jobs." Emily looked back at my mother; a hard and angry expression covered her normally soft features. "She's not in the court's system…or the country records; all she has is the fake record. They could use that to their advantage in the case of a-"

"Mom, what about false imprisonment, that's illegal." I argued back, eyes wide. "Keeping a woman in an all male prison has to qualify as cruel and unusual punishment."

My mother closed her eyes again; taking a deep breath as the color in her cheeks deepened. "In any other case… it would. But, honey, you've got to understand; you brought this upon yourself. Our best chance of getting you out of here is," she swallowed hard, "is to just do your time…and- and then forget about it once your out. You know, put it behind you." She said carefully. I scoffed and looked down at the table quickly before my eyes adverted back to her.

"Mom," I began, shaking my head. "You don't understand who I'm stuck in here with." She knitted her eyebrows together; sure, she knew the subcategories of the type of cons that I was walking amongst…but she didn't know who, "John Abruzzi." Her eyes widened. "I won't last fifteen years in here mom. Only six days here and I've already managed to make the top five on his hit list." My mother shook her head.

"Honey, isn't that-that why you came here? To get the inside story on prisoners like him?" she asked, blinking several times. I turned and looked behind me; Burrows must have had the same idea, our eyes met for a split second before I turned around.

"Not him. Just Burrows." I answered.

"Yes," my mother scoffed, "A death row inmate…who killed the Vice President's brother; Abruzzi is nothing compared to him." She raised her voice, my eyes widened. She hadn't yet realized that we were in the same room with the so called killer. Emily's eyes widened; I assumed she had finally figured out who was the mystery inmate.

"They didn't read me my Miranda Rights." I included, looking down at the table and wetting my lips. I looked back up at my mother as she closed her eyes and sighed.

"Honey, there isn't much we can do about it. We are just as much at fault as Fox River is; you even more so…I know you're not like that. You're not a killer, your father and I raised you better than that." Her voice cracked slightly

"Sorry," our heads snapped up at the CO's rather intrusive and shocked voice, "All visitors have to leave." My mother looked at me, her mouth hung open slightly; I shook my head not knowing what was going on. The CO pulled me up from the chair; I craned my neck to look in the direction of the front of the room; Lincoln stood by the door his hands still cuffed.

"What's-"my mother stood up as well, Emily following suite; both of the expressions read the same thing; Fear flashed through their eyes. The CO looked at them as he placed the metal restrains around my wrists once again.

"A Wing is being shut down for safety purposes." He informed her quickly; another CO entered the room; ushering Emily and my mother from the premises, another CO doing the same to the couple that was talking to Lincoln.

"Mom," I shook my head, fear rising in my voice; she reached out to me in a feeble attempt to pull me away from his grasp.

"M'am I'm very sorry; but you need to leave now." The officer informed her, pushing Emily and her towards the door. I watched, my heart beating fast against my chest as I watched them argue with the officer as they tried to push their way back into the room; only to be rejected.

I tried to keep my tears at bay as the CO gripped my arm again, he wasn't rough like the others were; and I don't remember seeing him on my first couple of days here…he must have been new. He held Lincoln with his other hand, I thought this an unusual situation; one guard…two inmates. Guess we don't seem that dangerous.

"Sorry about cutting you two short." He apologized to the both of us, his head turning to look at him. He gave me a sympathetic smile which I returned; it wasn't his fault. I shook my head, Lincoln's eyes boring a whole in my head.

"Bob, how many times have I told you not to apologize? It makes you look weak." His voice held no emotion; I knitted my brows together, it seemed that none of the inmates in this prison had any emotion in their voices when they talked. I took a deep breath and opened my mouth.

"So, what's-what's going on anyway?" I asked quietly, Lincoln's eyes darted to me; it seemed that this guy had some trust issues to work on.

"Like I said," Bob looked at me, his voice trying to firm and strict; "it's a minor disturbance." Confidentiality ran high in this place.

"A minor disturbance?" Lincoln questioned as Bob opened the door; now Lincoln's voice held some emotion, it a mix of sorts. Fear, anger, and adrenaline could be heard in every word "My brother's in Gen Pop. You need to tell me what's going on." He ordered, I looked up at him quickly.

"Your brother?" I asked, curious…and skeptical. He turned his attention towards me, his lips pushed in a straight line as he looked down upon me. I could see why people thought he killed the VP's brother; he was down right intimidating. Even so much as looking at him made me afraid.

"Some clowns breached cellblock, but they won't get anywhere." Bob reassured us. I redirected my attention to his; wait…I was in cellblock All the hallways have locked doors on either end."

"Wait. So where am I supposed to go then?" I asked, fearful. Surely they would put me back in there so soon, and especially when the whole prison was practically on lock down. Bob nodded in response.

"You'll go to SHU until everything is sorted out." He informed me. I felt somewhat relieved; last time I had been put there…under very different circumstances. Lincoln and I had been the only two inmates present. "Theres nothing to worry about." He reassured us, before leading us though the two doors that we had been waiting to enter; a siren blared overhead.

We ascended the stairs slowly; Lincoln and I side by side as our heels clicked against the metal steps. He turned towards me halfway up and sighed, Bob's keys rattled as he began to unlock the mesh gate that sat at the top of the steps.

"You think I'm innocent." Lincoln stated, beginning to continue on his way up the steps as the gate opened. I was stunned by the statement to say the least; I hadn't thought too much about the meeting in the chapel…too many other things had been on my mind at the moment. I stumbled to find the right words as I followed suite

"_Additional sectors of A-Wing have been compromised." _P.A system sounded, I stepped though the gate and looked at Lincoln, taking a deep breath.

"Well, apparently I'm not the only one." I answered, referring to the couple that I had seen him with earlier. The semi silence was shattered by the sound of screams and shouts; they seemed too close to be confined to Gen-Pop. My heart began to race as I watched a few inmates run down the hall in front of us, thankfully, it was cut off by another mesh fence. Unfortunately, the shouts didn't end there my head whipped around to the other side as shouts erupted from the hallway opposite of where we were standing.

"I'll be damned." The voice drawled out, my hands began to shake as T-Bag slowly walked towards us, the other inmates following suite; he held a long pipe in his hands. The slimy voice slithered though my ears as he continued to approach the three of us. Lincoln, being the bigger out of the three of us, stood his ground stepping towards the inmate. "A rookie CO and it ain't even Christmas." He hooted in laughter, twirling the pipe in his fingers. I shook violently, my breaths coming in short rasps. "And lookie here Sweetpea." He licked his lips, the tongue darting out from between his lips.

"Take the cuffs off. Give me the key." Lincoln ordered as he turned to us, I looked up at him; my bottom lip quivering slightly. I was too afraid to take my eyes off the group of men standing in front of us now; my eyes adverted towards T-Bag.

"I'm comin' for you Sweetpea." He sang, a crooked smile spreading across his face. Bob did as told and handed over the keys to Lincoln, he gripped my wrists with the little use he had with his hands and unlocked my cuffs first.

"I want you to run." He whispered, I looked up at him quickly as the cuffs fell from my wrists. "Beat it, T-Bag." He ordered as he uncuffed his own wrists.

"Oh, I see." The Southern drawl of the snake rang off the walls of the hallway, echoing in my mind once more. I didn't know if I should run now or not, keeping my feet planted firmly on the floor I looked at Bob then back to Lincoln; looking for indication on when I should make a run for it. "You found him first. Finders keepers." He sang. "But listen here, Linc," T-Bag twisted his head to side, licking his lips as he pointed the pipe at me; sweat continued to drip down my brow, staining my shirt. "I found Sweetpea first." Lincoln began to walk towards him, his bulky frame moving towards the smaller one slowly. There was no way I could make a run for it…they're too many of them.

"I respect that," T-Bag answered, "I really do. But," he looked in Bob and I's direction once more. "I think we can work something out."

"What you got?" Lincoln pressed. Bob and I stood stock still.

"I can make your last few weeks on Earth, quite enjoyable." T-Bag offered, shaking his hips to the side, "Get you some Demerol, some X." He went on, "You know, make you forget about that big, bad chair."

I held my breath as Lincoln shook his head. "No deal." From the look on T-Bag's face, and the way he wielded the pipe in his hand…he wasn't going to take no for answer. I took a step back, grabbing a hold on Bob's arm.

"We have to run." I whispered, keeping my eyes locked on the inmates that were slowly advancing upon us. "Now, please." I begged.

"You got to learn the art of negotiation." T-Bag informed us, his temper flaring. His face was bruised and bloodied from a pervious encounter with another inmate. "Lesson one: Bargaining position." I look another step back, pulling on Bob's arm; he took a step back as well. I just hoped they didn't notice. I flinched and let out a loud yelp as inmates surrounded us behind the mesh fencing; their hands rattling the chains, the sirens continued to blare, and the voice in my head screaming to run. "Rules just changed."

"Get the pig!" one of the inmates yelled. I looked up at Bob with a fearful expression, his eyes starred down into mine. He was going run…and he wasn't taking me with him…

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**Additional A/N: I apologize for how late this chapter is out. I will be updating again tomorrow night and possibly Sunday if I get a chance too. Any suggestions/flames/praise is welcomed.**


	16. Broken Ribs and Cracked Noses

**A/N: Happy Halloween all :) It's my favorite time of the year! Thank you again to all of the alerts, reviews, and reading! It means a lot to me; I apologize for the late updates (October is a busy month for my family.) I promise, that I'll be updating more since it's almost November! Contains elements of "Riots, Drills, and the Devil Part 1" **

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does don't belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

**Recap:** _"Get the pig!" one of the inmates yelled. I looked up at Bob with a fearful expression, his eyes starred down into mine. He was going run…and he wasn't taking me with him…_

* * *

I continued to stare at him; my hands becoming clammy cold as ice as the blood seemed to drain from my veins. I held my breath; watching as his eyes shifted towards the gated stairs that we had come up not more than a couple of minutes ago, his pupils grew wide and I could see him contemplating on whether or not running was the only option. Unfortunately, in this situation, it was. Every muscle in my body seemed to become frozen as he raced towards the stairs that were to the left of T-Bag and the inmates, the heavy utility belt around his waist weighing him down. It let out a loud yell, turning sharply in the direction he was running towards.

"No!" I yelled again, my voice pleading. He had weapons on him at all times, why didn't he just use them, that's what CO's stood for right, Correctional Officer. His job was the correct the situation, that's why they equip you with guns, mace, and a Billy stick…surely, he didn't forget how to use them. Lincoln's hands were suddenly secured to Bob's shirt, his fists throwing him up against the mesh fence; face dripping with sweat. My eyes diverted back to T-Bag and his group as they watched the ordeal; he grinned at him, pointing in my direction.

"I'm comin' for ya, Sweetpea." He sang, his voice dripping with unadulterated fantasy. He scraped his teeth along his bottom lip slowly; I turned my attention back to Lincoln abruptly, hearing Bob cry out as he shoved him into the fence once again.

"What are doing?" Lincoln demanded, angrily; he glanced back in my direction for a brief moment, almost like he was making sure I was still there. I wiped sweat from my brow as it trickled into my eyes, stinging them.

"I gotta get out of here." Bob pleaded, shaking his head. The fear was evident in his voice, and seemed to me that almost all inmates here could smell fear a mile away; this room must have stunk of it.

"Look around! You're never gonna make it!" Lincoln screamed at him as shoved him away, his back hitting the fence once again. I rushed over, all hesitation that I had felt towards him before was gone. My small hand gripped at his sweat drenched shirt, gripping the sleeves tightly.

"Please, Lincoln." I begged, my eyes wide with fear as the group behind T-Bag continued to grow.

"Chill, Sink. No blood needs to be spilled." T-Bag reasoned, opening his arms in a gesture of friendship; like Lincoln was going to run and jump into his arms at a moments notice.

"Then walk away." Lincoln demanded lowly, pulling out of my grasp and advancing slowly towards the group. I slowly, backed up against the fence next to Bob, shaking my head as I looked over at the frightened CO, letting my bottom lip shake uncontrollably. There was no way any of us were getting out of this situation, well, alive at least. It was kind of a coincidence; no more than fifteen minutes ago I was explaining to my mother that I wouldn't last fifteen years, now the corner would have to hell her that I only last six days and fifteen minutes…

"We both know that ain't gonna happen." T-Bag argued; I had to give this man credit. He wasn't stupid, infact; he was probably one of the smarter inmates in the prison. Not smart as in, genius, but cunning…and he used that Southern Charm whenever he could. Too bad his temper must have kept him from having a functional relationship when he was free.

"Yeah?" Lincoln questioned defiantly, taking a step closer. My tried to control my breathing as I closed my eyes for a split second; whatever Lincoln had planned wasn't going to save us. Reopening them again, my mind spun with thoughts of what they were capable of doing to us. I was hoping T-Bag would keep his earlier promise and make my death as quick as possible. His group began to advance; I felt a tug on my wrist. When I looked up, Bob was staring back at me…his eyes remorseful, regret coursing though them.

"Sorry." He whispered; I scoffed in reply.

"You ever seen one of them Safari shows?" T-Bag wondered aloud, directing the question at the three of us as he and his group stalked in our direction. I thought back to the countless late nights I had spent watching Animal Planet when working on articles for the school paper; watching a lion rip its prey apart at four thirty in the morning was a fun way to spend an all nighter. "Where a bunch of them cheetahs just jump all up on an antelope?" My breath came in short raps as they neared, my vision already blurring with unshed tears as more sweat rolled into my eyes, a few of the inmates eyed me. Of course, Lincoln and Bob were the adult antelopes; the alphas, the ones meant to protect the baby antelopes…

"And guess which one you are?" T-Bag laughed; I was the baby antelope. Not a second later were they upon us; fists flying in every direction, Lincoln getting most of them into the inmates' faces before he was over run by the whole four against one fight. I screamed at the top of my lungs as one inmate shoved me against the fence, his knee burring it's self in my stomach as he repeadly kneed me in the stomach. I doubled over in pain, listening to the grunts of the other prisoners; I couldn't tell if it was Lincoln who was getting the worst of it or not. Tears fell from my eyes as the inmates tossed me to the side, my head bouncing off the stone floor. I sucked in a breath as I curled into the fetal position, brining my knees up to my stomach, my face contorting in pain as I struggled to breathe. A searing pain ripped though my stomach to my chest; I knew he'd broken a few of my ribs. I didn't even have the strength to scream when the inmate grabbed a fistful of my hair, pulling me up from the ground; I could only go with the movements, my face contorting in pain at the sensation that arose in my side, my scalp burned with a tingling sensation, suddenly a whistle ripped though the air, followed by a loud thump.

"Sweetpea and the CO are mine." T-Bag's face drawled. The inmate threw me to the ground again, a sickening crunch ripping though the air as the rib broke; my eyes suddenly flew open, my jaw dropping to the floor as I screamed in agony. It was the worst pain I'd ever felt in my life, my vision blurred with pain and tears as I shook, small grunts and squeaks erupting from my throat as I gripped at the pain in my side, almost like I was trying to rip it out.

**Mother's POV**

The parking lot was swarming with squad cars and, my god, the SWAT team. Emily looked at me with wide eyes; her hands flying to cover her mouth as she watched the back of the black armored truck open. Ten heavily armed men jumped from the back, running in all directions. My heart sank, my daughter…my only child was stuck in this mess; and I couldn't help her. I just knew that I was about to loose the only thing good that had ever happened to me. I was taken out of my trance by a tugging on my arm; I looked up slowly, Emily's fist closed around the purple cardigan that was over my shoulders, shielding me from the slight breeze that carried though the air.

"We have to do something." She pleaded, the alarms blaring in our ears.

"There's nothing we can do." I answered my voice trembling and solemn as I looked at her. A few tears fell down the young woman's face, she blinked them away slowly.

"That's my best friend is in there…your daughter." She raised her voice. "I have to do something."

**End POV**

I sobbed in pain, my cheek flat against the hot concrete as sweat continued to roll down my face, a puddle of it forming on the concrete just under the tip of my nose. I tried hard to keep my vision from blurring, and to keep the sounds of Bob's grunts and moan's of pain as T-Bag beat him to a pulp, his body was flung to the ground several times before he was throw back up against the wall; blood dripped on the floor as he stumbled around. Rolling over onto my stomach, I screamed again; not being able to keep the pain down, I tried to hoist myself up from the ground, my arms shaking violently as I attempted to crawl towards the steps. Needless to say, I didn't make it very far before I came crashing down onto the floor again, my face pressed against the sweat and blood stained floor as I cried. I'd never felt this close to death before…ever. I'd never really thought of what it was be like to die, or to know that you were going to do…but couldn't do anything about it.

"Now, Sweetpea," T-Bags voice questioned, I was still as I felt a pair of hands wrap themselves under my underarms, before he pulled me upright against his chest; his hot breath cascading into my ears as he held me around the waist with one hand, supporting my limp body, his other hand hoisting the semi conscious Bob up by the belt. I turned my head to look at him, my eyes heavy with fear as he leaned in closer, the tip of our noses touching momentarily. "Where were you runnin' off to?" he whispered, a twisted smile forming on his lips before he roughly began to half drag, half lead us towards the way to Gen pop, his laughter filling my ears.

"Oh, Sweetpea; you, I, and Bob here are gonna have a good time." He raised his eyebrows in a seductive way, but it was far from seductive in my book. "A real good time."

It was chaos, utter chaos. All of Gen-pop had been over run by the inmates; toilet paper, clothing, and other various items littered the floors that lined the walls of the prison. The screaming and shouting had risen significantly among the normal decimals of what the human voice should have been allowed to conjure up. I grunted in pain as he paraded us down the steps of Gen-pop, smiling in victory; showing the prisoners his prize. He acted as if he had slayed the great dragon, the village rewarding him with praise. Except, in this case, he had defeated the CO and taken the only female hostage…not the normal fairy tale; the next thing I knew I was face down on the floor, the yells of praise filling my ears as Bob landed next to me. His somewhat unconscious form bloodied and bruised, I let out a whimper as I reached out, gripping his hand; maybe he was faking it. I squeezed his hand again, but to no avail.

"Gentlemen!" the almighty Theodore Bagwell announced, slapping the pipe against the metal railing. "Gentlemen! I assure you," he began this noble speech, my eyes darted around the room slowly, looking for any exit; I didn't want to die like this. "Once, Bob," I saw Bob shift, a spark of hope rising in my chest until I noticed T-Bags booted foot moving him around, "and I; oh, and of course you, Sweetpea." He added "are done getting acquainted, everyone else will get their turn!" The crowd broke into frenzy once more, yelling and jeering to their god, T-Bag. He hoisted me up once again, his arm encircling my waist as he grabbed Bob by the belt, dragging us again towards our doom. He steered us onto the second level of the cells, my face contorted in rage. I was not dying like this, in a prison, after having god knows what done to my body. Without a second though, or any time to plan my escape, I slammed my foot down onto the toes of T-Bag's boots. He yelped in pain, instantly dropping me from his grasp, his hold on Bob was still firm. I didn't like the idea of leaving the CO behind, but in this situation it was life or death…and I chose life. Painfully, I pushed myself up from the ground, stumbling on the concrete as the sensation traveled up by side again, my hand instantly encircling it's self around the middle part of my body; I fell a few times, my shoes slipping on the paper that lined the floor.

"Where you goin', Sweetpea?" T-Bag yelled, it as an unnerving feeling; having your back towards him, he was sneaky. It was like walking in the woods alone, or going for a walk on a deserted trail, you always felt like someone was behind your, watching your every move. That's how this felt, except…I knew there was someone behind me, and they were going to catch me…and they were going to kill me. I took a quick glance behind me only to see that T-Bag had dropped Bob off in another cell, now both hands were free…free to do whatever they wanted to me. My breath caught in my throat as I saw Bob's limp legs sticking out from one of the cells, turning my attention towards the rows and rows of them in front of me I stumbled again, I had to endure and ignore the pain, pretend that it didn't exist. I tried hard to focus on things that made me happy as I grasped onto the yellow bars that lined the balcony, propelling myself along the rows.

"No, no, no, no, no." T-Bag's narcissistic voice carried over to me. This only made me propel myself faster, my hands becoming slippery from the sweat that had built up on my hands, I slipped a few times; my funny bone hitting the bars, making my arm numb. I continued to crawl, anything to get away from this. True, it was probably worthless…but like I said, I didn't want to die like this. I kind of wish I had of let Jesse kill me when he had the chance. "They always think they can run away." I felt a pair of hands grip the back of my pants, pulling me towards them. With a grunt of pain, and using my last ounce of strength; I lifted my leg and twisted my body at the same time, and with a scream of agony I let my boot collide with the side of his face.

Did I think this would make him stop whatever he was planning on doing? No, infact, this probably gave him more ideas. His face was contorted in anger as he lunged towards me, hissing profanities. I attempted to crawl away, fear rising above the normal level of what the body can handle before giving out completely, giving in to whatever the other body desired. I wasn't fast enough; he flipped me over onto my back roughly, his legs immediately straddling my waist as he hovered over me. My vision was blurred with more than tears of pain as I watched his fist rise in the air; everything move so slowly, and it happened to fast. His fist came down upon my face, the knuckles colliding with the side of my fast roughly, my head jerked to the side. I'd never been punched before, when you see it on television it doesn't look so bad, but the nasty sound effects that the post production teams add in during editing sure do make them…well, those sounds were spot on. A sickening feeling rose in my stomach as I felt his fist come down again, and again, again. I had lost count at three by that point. My vision was blurred horribly, the sounds of the inmates cheering was nothing more than white noise to me, his fist came in and out of focus as dark spots played at the corner of my eyes, a red tint closing in on them. I could see the blood as it seeped into my eye, blurring my vision even worse than before. I could taste it, taste my own blood as it ran from my nose. My hands weakly lifted above my head, trying to keep his fists from hitting my face anymore. My left eye felt swollen, like it was about to fall out of my head any second. I could deal with a broken rip, a few bruises; those would need rest to heal…but the face was different, and not because I was vein, or because I was a woman. The temple is located on either sides of your head, one wrong hit there and I would hemorrhage to death, not to mention if he got one good hit into my nose it could push the cartilage into my brain; killing me instantly. _You ever seen one of them safari shows. _I was surprised I could even think at his point…but he was right. I thought back to an episode I watched a week before I began the investigation on this article; it was in the African savannah, profiling the hunting habits of Lions and Gazelles. This prison was the African savannah, danger lurking at every corner, ready to strike at a moments notice; it was feeding time, the roars of the other lions cheering the alpha on as he preyed upon the weaker, more fragile Gazelle. I thought back to the information that was provided by the narrator during the program, my vision blurring again. The Gazelle didn't die, in fact…in some ways, it defeated the lion. It's a natural instinct, to do anything in your power to say alive…even if it did mean playing dead. T-Bag was the lion in this animal kingdom called prison, and I was the Gazelle, having accidentally stumbled upon the lion's turf. This theory was the only thing I had left, I stop struggling, letting my hands fall down by the sides, and my chest rose and fell…but barely. My head lolled to the side, showing off the work that he had done on my face, I could feel that it wasn't pretty.

The punches stopped; I guess people weren't lying when they said humans were animals. My vision and hearing still weren't right. My vision was completely shot, nothing but blurry images danced in front of my eyes, well eye, and I could already feel my left one swelling. At least the pain in my face numbed the fact that I probably had several broken ribs. I felt myself being picked up with ease; I tried to focus on the face that was grunting in an effort to lift my limp and surprisingly not dead body weight. The arms linked under my under arms dragging towards no doubt, the cell that Bob's body already accompanied. He tossed me lazily into the cell, my already broken body hitting the floor hard; I slowly stood up, my body weaving to the side, being able to see out only one of my eyes. This couldn't be happening, I was still going to die like this…and even if I didn't, I'd probably have a few handicaps after this. I grunted as I felt something hit me in the back, knocking me off what little balance I had left; my arms automatically threw themselves out in front of me as I fell forward. I felt something metal hit the palm of my hands, thinking it was stable enough to break my fall I gripped onto it. Only to hear a tearing sound, the metal; whatever it was, bounded off the floor and hit the side of my face as I hit the ground. I didn't try to get up, I didn't move. Even though I could barely see…it was hard to miss, my jaw flew open. Whatever I pulled off the wall…was hiding a giant, gaping, hole…

"They're breakin' out." T-Bag whispered in disbelief, I would have been surprised, relieved even…if it weren't for the circumstance I was in.

I slowly tried to push myself up from the floor, gripping onto anything that I could. I stood up, my vision blurring, my hearing shot, and my legs feeling like jelly; but to no avail, I fell back onto the ground, my head leaning against the wall lazily, breathing slow and unevenly paced. I needed help.

"Help." I whispered, gripping at anything in an attempt to stand up again, "Please." I could feel fresh tears burning at the back of my eyes.

"They're breaking-"his sentence was cut short, I didn't know why. It scared me not, not being able to see anything clearly, I shouldn't have been concerned for his well being at this point, and I wasn't…but if he knew they were breaking out, whoever 'they' were, if they found out…my breathing became for erratic. I faintly heard a "Shhh, shhh." My head slowly lifting up only to find John Abruzzi, his hand around T-Bag's mouth…now, I really was going to die.

"Hey, hey, Kid." I didn't know Abruzzi's voice could get that soft; I slowly lifted my head up. My heart pounding in my chest as his eyes scanned over my face, his own contorting a disgusted grimace…was it really that bad? I closed my eyes and let a few tears slip down my swollen cheeks. This article wasn't worth it anymore, I didn't want this…I just wanted out of here. Out of this place, away from these people, away from all of this; I flinched, becoming frightened as Abruzzi's hands gripped my shoulders, attempting to hoist me from my spot on the floor, I squealed in pain, slumping back against the wall, more fresh tears seeping from my eyes. That's the problem with "resting", all that pain came back at once, threatening to loose consciousness from the feeling I slide back down the face of the wall, my arm cradling the right side of my rib cage, I looked up though the tears as Abruzzi's brows knitted together, reaching forward I screamed; his fingers grazing over my side.

"Don't-don't touch it. Please, don't-"I cried weakly, attempting to shove his hand away.

"Jesus Christ." He mumbled, disbelief carved in every word. His attention, as all of ours did, diverted toward a sound from the hole in the wall. I weakly turned my head, barley being able to see the figure that was crawling their way from the escape route. I was shocked that something like this was even capable of being crafted without the guards knowing, they're might have been one person who I think could have done this…

Abruzzi stood up from his crouching position on the floor and shifted his head from side to side, sucking in a breath though his teeth. I watched as the familiar tattooed arms came into view, I should have known it. Michael was too smart; he stood up as he existed the confined space, his eyes glaring at Abruzzi and then to T-Bag.

"Yeah, we have a problem." Abruzzi, informed him; gesturing to T-Bag. The smaller man scoffed and looked back at Michael, his hand gesturing in my direction with a flick of his wrist.

"That's right. Yeah, Sweetpea, and Bob here," he kicked the Co in the leg, a grunt emitting from his still semi conscious body that now lay half on the bed and half on the floor, " They got ta' go away."

I looked up at him as Michael finally realizing what T-Bag was implying; he must not have noticed me when he crawled from the hole. His eyes widened as he took in my appearance, his feet slowly carrying him over towards where I laid. He wasn't angry like I expected him to be, infact, his face from what I could tell, was frightened. His mouth opened slightly as he bent down in front of me, his hand reached forward, the sweaty finger tips touching the swollen eye on the left side of my face. I flinched away, sucking in a shaky breath in though clenched teeth as he rested a hand on my shoulder.

"Come on." He whispered, gripping me under the arms gently; I looked up at him, fear flashing though my eyes, well, my good eye at least. I shook my head, protesting against him moving me.

"No, no- I-I can't." I whispered tearfully, placing my hands on his shoulders and squeezing them tightly; I was afraid to move. The position I was sitting in at the moment kept pressure away from the broken rib, I couldn't feel anything.

"You have to. Trust me." He whispered back, his blue eyes pleading with me. I took another deep breath and nodded, preparing for the unbearable pain that I was about to put myself through once again. I gripped his shoulders tightly as he carefully pulled me up, my barred my teeth in pain, grunting as I fell against his chest in a heap of dry sobs. He held me up right, my heading continued to spin.

"No ones going anywhere." He ordered sternly, carefully leading me towards the bottom bunk, he helped me lower my shaking body down onto the mattress carefully, my breathing rigid as I tried to keep pressure away from the injury. He looked at me sympathetically as he withdrew from me, I was hesitant to let go; he made me feel safe.

"They've seen the hole." T-Bag argued, Michael glanced towards me, and then Bob who was slowly regaining consciousness.

"So have you." Abruzzi argued back, his eyes boring holes into T-Bag before he diverted his gaze to me; I turned my head and closed my eyes. Great, they could use this against me. I knew about their plan of escaping…I'd have to agree to anything they wanted me to do now.

"Looks like your lock down idea didn't work out too good, huh?" his Mexican friend asked; I hadn't seen him exit the hole. My blood ran cold, Michael's idea. My slowly looked up at him, once his eyes caught mine he looked back down at the ground; ashamed, and he damn well be. I was in this position; I was in this situation… I was in this pain, because of him. Because he just couldn't stand it any here any longer, he looked back up at me, his eyes apologizing for everything I had just thought about. Bob suddenly stirred best me, his head lifting from the bed.

"Please, I have a daughter." He pleaded his voice hoarse and weak. I looked down at him, his eyes blinking towards Michael. Michael wasn't a killer; I could already see that…he held too much compassion for people he didn't even know.

"We have to kill them." T-Bag announced, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip slowly as he looked at me; this guy would stop at nothing until I was wiped off the face of this earth…and it was all because I refused to hold his fucking pocket. My eyes flashed to Michael's, tears brimming my eyes…I'd escaped death before, too many times before, I'm sure I could do it again. He looked at me, a pained expression on his face…he wasn't seriously thinking about that…was he?

"He's right." Abruzzi mumbled, taking a step towards me, his mouth contorting in a smirk. My eyes locked on his, my chest rose and fell at an uneven pace, my hand's shaking as I gripped the bed sheets. I had forgotten that Bellick and T-Bag weren't the only two that wanted me gone…

* * *

**Additional A/N: I apologize for this chapter; it isn't by best. I was trying to finish the riot all in one chapter…but that simply just could not be done, now could it? I changed some things in that episode to fit my needs in this chapter. Yeah, Erica seems a little afraid of Abruzzi, doesn't she? Hope you guys enjoyed it :) R&R!**


	17. We've got a rat

**A/N: Thanks again for all the reviews/alerts! I had originally intended the riot to be in one chapter, but, I didn't want you guys to have to read a giant chapter. Btw- Just got back from seeing Clint Eastwood's new film, Hereafter…I haven't seen something this intense since I saw Frozen back in February of last year. Everyone should see this movie!**

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does don't belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

**Recap: **_"He's right." Abruzzi mumbled, taking a step towards me, his mouth contorting in a smirk. My eyes locked on his, my chest rose and fell at an uneven pace, my hand's shaking as I gripped the bed sheets. I had forgotten that Bellick and T-Bag weren't the only two that wanted me gone…_

I shook my head in protest; slowly that is, any sudden or jerky movements I made seemed to make my head spin, well, more than it already was. I tried to focus on the inmates standing in front of me, but they kept moving; their blurry bodies swaying side to side, going in and out of focus. Despite the pain that shot though my abdomen, I tried to get up from the bed; to stand up for myself, protest the idea that both T-Bag and Abruzzi just so happened to have. As soon as I planted my feet on the floor, a fire erupted within my stomach; I held my breath as I gently lowered myself back down onto the bunk, grinding my teeth together in pain.

"The cops are right outside." I heard Michael's voice protest defiantly; I could faintly make out the outline of someone stepping in front of me, blocking my view. "And they'll stay outside as long as they know we're keeping him alive." What about me? Oh, that's right; I'm "officially" an inmate…that means no more means of protection had been granted to me.

"But, they're gonna squeal." T-Bag's slimy voice whined, rising above its normal octave. "Once they seen what happened to Sweetpea ova' there, they gonna want to know who did it, and she's gonna sing like a church choir. And-and that guard ova' there, he's gonna squeal, squeal like the pig he is." I placed my hand over my abdomen, sweat rolling off my face as I squeezed my eyes shut, my breathing coming in slow gasps. I remembered watching something about broken ribs on the Discovery Health channel; you can clearly see where I learn most of my knowledge, right? As long as they were just cracked, and not completely broken, I would last.

"What in the hell does this have to do with you anyway?" Abruzzi asked, referring to T-Bag's lack of mentioning himself about knowing about the secret operation that had been going on in Scofield's cell. My mouth felt dry as I swallowed slowly, my hand still gently resting on my side. "This is not any of your concern."

I could already imagine the look on T-Bag's face at this point, he chuckled lowly, his condescending voice smiling. "You see, them two know _our_ little secret." He stressed the word, turning the tables on the rest of the men in the cell; he was letting them know that since he knew, the whole prison would know unless... "They know about _our _escape. So it's all our concern now, isn't it?"

They exited the cell slowly, leaving Bob and in their wake; Michael cast a sorrowful glance in my direction as he stood at the front of the cell. My head spun momentarily as I shifted my attention to the other side of the bunk, when I turned around again…he was gone.

"We have to get out of here," Bob whispered, keeping his vision focused straight ahead, not wanting to tip any of them off. I lazily looked at him; I could feel my eye swelling to an unhealthy size. I opened my mouth, my jaw clenching weakly as I went to answer him. But, before I could, I heard footsteps approaching; not being able to see out of my left eye I panicked, but I bed ridden, paralyzed.

"Hey, _mami_ how you fellin'?" the Mexican's thick accent directed towards me, the spot on the bunk sagged as his weight sat upon it. I was surprised by how gently he grasped my wrist, my head still turned away from him…he wasn't like the other inmates here either, and he definitely didn't seem like the killing type. I took a deep breath and looked at him, turning my head so I could make eye contact. He sucked his breath in though his teeth in a disgusted manor, almost like he had seen a monster. "Damn, that looks real bad." He informed me; I squeezed my eyes shut as pain shot though my abdomen once again.

"They broke my ribs." I mumbled weakly, concern flashed though his eyes momentarily. His brows kitting together as sweat beaded upon them. I slumped against the railing slightly, the headache pulsating though my brain, throbbing on the left side of my head.

"Sucre, I need you to finish what we started." Michael's voice rang. The Mexican, whose name I just learned, slowly got up from the bed, following Michael as he walked past Bob and me; my blood froze in my veins as I watched him tear the toilet from the hole, exposing it once more. He couldn't leave us here like this…

"What's going on man? Where are you going?" Sucre pressed, walking up behind him, fear evident in his voice.

"Sick Bay." Michael answered instantly; he placed the toilet aside before turning in my direction, his rapid movements made me dizzy as I tried to focus on which direction he was actually heading in. I flinched as my vision finally processed that he was now crouching down in front of me, his hands gripping mine tightly.

"Hey, there's no way into B-wing. We're all locked out." Abruzzi protested.

"I'm not." Michael spat, turning in Abruzzi's direction before focusing back on me, his eyes softening instantly; his hand reached up and slowly brushed the sweaty strands of hair that were sticking to my forehead away, being as gently as possible as his fingers gently grazed over my swollen lump of an eye. "No one touches her or the CO." he spat, directing his words towards the three others in the room. "No one." He made himself clear. "I'll be back."

"No," I choked out as he began to pull away from my grasp, the electric spark between the two of us quickly fading. "Please, don't leave me here. Please." I begged, tears forming at the creases of my eyes.

"I'll be back. I promise." With a quick smile he disappeared back into the hole, as soon as Michael was out of sight, T-Bag was back to his alpha male ways, his voice filling the room instantly.

"You gonna clue me in, pie-zon?" I could only image that he was referring to Abruzzi who was leaning against the wall opposite of me, his arms crossed over his chest, face contorted and creased with anger. I lifted my hand again, my head spinning; it fell onto my lap, my knuckles hitting something within the pocket of my pants. I was both relieved and newly afraid as the realization of what my hand had hit came to mind; my journal. I was relieved that I didn't loose it back in the hallway when coming from visitation, but now, if they found it…especially if T-Bag or Abruzzi found it, I was dead, instantly on questions asked.

**Emily's POV**

The guards had escorted Ms. Jones and me away from the main area of the prison; informing us that the whole area was on lock down. I slammed the door of the white Honda as I slumped down into the passenger seat, rubbing my temples angrily as she slowly slithered into hers. I didn't understand why she wasn't fighting tooth and nail to get her out of there, and I couldn't stop thinking about the worst case scenario; what if they couldn't contain the riot…or what if they were too late? I could only assume that she was thinking the same. I looked her in direction, sighing out heavily.

"What about the Governor?" I asked, my eyes gazing down at the parking break, I had to focus on something or else I was going to loose my mind. "He's had to have had word about his already." When her mother did answer, I looked up. Her eyes looked scared, and embarrassed; and I knew it wasn't because we had failed her only living relative…she was hiding something.

"What? What about the Governor?" she asked, quickly, almost as if she was trying to cover something up. I eyed her up suspiciously, watching as beads of sweat began to form on her brow; something was wrong…very, very wrong.

"Ms. Jones?" I asked, cautiously, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, dear. I'm fine-just, just a little shaken up." She answered, stumbling over her words as she reached down into one of the side compartments in the door, pulling a zip lock bag of tissues from its depths, she opened the bag and began to dap her face with one of the white tissues, looking nervous…and guilty.

**End POV**

It had already been a few minutes since Michael had left, T-Bag, showing off the little strength he had, hoisted the rest of Bob's body onto the bed next to me, it shifted slowly as he weakly slumped against it; his face his strained with fear. As soon as Michael left for Sick Bay, what he needed there probably wasn't as important as what was going on here, I lost all hope of making it out of here alive, yes, I realize I have said that many a times over the past hour dragged by, but it was clearly evident. I didn't protest when T-Bag roughly unlaced Bob and I's boots, pulling them off our sweat drenched feet; my socks were stuck within the black boots. I was sure he was going to strangle us with them the first chance he got.

"You ain't gonna use that." Sucre stated as he looked up from his spot at the hole, glancing at T-Bag as he undid Bob's belt, slipping it out of the loops. I leaned my head back against the wall and closed my eyes; the headache I had earlier had grown unnervingly, it felt like when you had a sinus infection; the pressure building up on either sides of my head made me feel weightless as I blinked, trying to clear my vision.

"You are makin' up the rules now?" T-bag challenged as he slapped the belt against the floor, I normally would have flinched; but I sat there, unmoving.

"It's my house. You got a problem?" Sucre argued back, his voice nothing but a blur. It traveled slowly into my ears, becoming distorted as I finally realized what they were arguing about.

"Yeah, I got a few problems. We all do." T-Bag hissed, I felt a small slap on my face, my head immediately lifting up from its falling position, "You ain't gettin' off that easy, Sweetpea." He warned, typing the shoelaces together tightly, probably imagining he was hanging me from one of the cells by now.

"We're not gonna say anything." I pleaded quietly. "I swear god." I felt a few tears spring to my eyes as T-Bag licked his lips, tying another knot in the shoelaces.

"Please, we didn't see anything." Bob added; I was surprised when he used the word 'we' instead of 'I', he knew I wasn't supposed to be in this prison; all of the guards did.

"That's right, badge. You didn't see nothing." Sucre spat, moving the toilet away from the wall, his body hunching forward.

"Wait." I said weakly, gripping the bars as I leaned forward painfully; silent tears dripped from my eyes as the pain increased. "You can't-don-don't leave." I practically begged, Sucre looked at me, shaking his head sadly before moving towards the hole once more, dipping his head low.

"I'm sorry. I'll be back." He reassured me, before disappearing into the hole just like Michael had. And then there were three, it was unnervingly quite, aside from the jeering and yelling coming from the inmates that had broken loose all over the prison. I was so close to getting out of here today, so close…and this happens. T-Bag looked at me as he raised the sheet above the entrance from the cell, obscuring the rest of the inmates' vision from seeing what was going on around them.

"Don't worry, Sweetpea, alright?" he sang, holding the sheet up, "I'm not gonna hurt nobody." I highly doubted that, "I'm part of the team now." He drawled, his voice becoming distorted as the pain increased within my head, my eyes crossed as I tried to focus on his face, his lips moving slow, the words, traveling out even slower. "I'm part of the team now." Anything that was said after that was a blur, I could see figures moving; but I couldn't tell who they were or what they were doing, I could hear their voices; but they all sounded the same, deep and distorted. It was almost as if I was underwater, the sound never traveling quite deep enough to penetrate my ears. I struggled to keep my chin from falling onto my chest, to keep my eyes open at all costs, to stay alive…but it was becoming harder and harder to convince myself that I was going to make it out.

**Ms. Jones' POV**

"My god." I whispered, watching as a black limo followed by a motorcade came speeding into the parking lot. I watched as Erica's nosey friend turned in her seat, the seatbelt coming off in a flash as she realized who was now joining the mob of people that had formed around the prison. My heart fell into my stomach; I knew who this man was, Governor Tancredi…we go way back, well, not as far back as you think. It took me a minute to realize that Emily had gotten out of the car, her black flats pounding against the pavement as she rushed towards the parked vehicle. I exited the car just a quickly, I had to get to her before she let this all out; the less people that knew about the situation that was going on within the prison, and no, I don't mean the riot, the better. I grabbed her arm as she waited impatiently for the Governor to exist the vehicle.

"Emily, lets go." I said quickly, looking back just in time to see several news vans pulling in just as quickly, "Now. This place is going to be media firestorm lets-"before I could finish my desperate plea the door to the limo had already opened; a man's foot stepped out first, and then the other before his whole body was free from the tinted windows and bullet proof glass. My eyes widened as he looked straight at me, his eyes widened in turn, his jaw falling open.

"Cassandra Jones?" he asked in disbelief; surprise etched in every word as his "bodyguards" began to surround him.

"Governor Tancredi." Emily looked at me astonished, her mouth hanging open before she looked back at him; my eyes welled with tears.

**End POV**

"What we got here?" I heard T-Bag's voice drawl; I must have been sleeping with my eyes open, I didn't even notice him pull a chair up in front of us. He was sitting in front of me, as my vision cleared slightly I could see him holding something in this hands.

"'Tyler Robert Hudson'." He read aloud, "That is fancy, CO. Look at that address," he smiled; I suddenly became aware of how he got a hold of Bob's personal belongings. I slowly moved my hands over my knees, no matter how much pain it caused me, wanting to make sure he didn't find my journal. "'144 Oak Park…" I shut out everything from that point on, focusing on how I was going to conceal anything I had on me; I licked my lips my salvia mixing with the dried blood and sweat before I sighed out heavily, listening to T-Bag ridicule and taunt the man.

"This here must be your daughter." T-Bag drawled, his eyes wondering over the picture several times as he held it up in front of him; I could see the fantasies flashing though his mind as he bit his lip slowly.

"Put it back." Bob demanded, ignoring the CO, T-Bag held the picture up for both of us to see; she was pretty girl, long hair pulled back on either sides, and the dress she had on was very elegant.

"Prom?" T-bag guessed, leaning forward as he bit the edge of the paper, his eyes flashed to me, and then back to Bob. "You know what they say about a prom dress don't ya?" A wicked grin spread across his face as he looked back at me. "I'm sure Sweetpea ova' here can tell ya a thing or two about them." He bit his lip, his teeth grazing over it slowly. "She ain't come home that night did she?" He turned his attention to me, his body lifting from the chair as he leaned towards me. "I bet you didn't either, Sweetpea" he trailed his eyes up and down my face, probably ignoring the grapefruit that was posing as my left eye at the moment. "You probably wore that dress all night, didn't you? And the next morning," he whispered, biting his lip. I recoiled at the stench of his breath as she leaned in closer to me, his lips resting against the skin right above my busted eyebrow, my whole body shook. "You probably had to throw that dress away in the mornin' didn't ya?" he whispered, I choked back at sob at the slimy feeling that filled the pit of my stomach. "Didn't want your daddy to see the-"I didn't remember much of my prom, I mean, I went…but I didn't go with anybody. I remembered, the caption of the football team asked me to go to prom with him; I declined, knowing the type he was…and knowing exactly what he was after. He was the figure of a god; blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and he got a gorgeous tan every summer.

"Hey, hey hey." Before I knew it, T-Bags slimy lips retreated from my forehead as a pair of hands dragged him away from me, pulling him up right. "What the hell are you doing?" Abruzzi asked angrily; this was the first time that I can truly say, thank god that John Abruzzi was there. Abruzzi's eyes flashed to me momentarily as T-Bag shoved Abruzzi's hands away from him; retreating back to his seat in front of Bob and me. "Nothin'" he answered, glaring at me, "Just tryin to make friends." Abruzzi scoffed before taking a menacing step towards the sitting man; I could see fear flash though T-Bags eyes.

"I'll be very clear here because you and I face and evolutionary gap." Abruzzi explained his voice hard and strained as he rested his arm on the top bunk, looking down at T-Bag with a hard expression, suddenly, his fists gripped T-Bags shirt, ripping him up from the seat before he shoved him against the wall, pointing a finger in my direction. "You ain't gonna hurt them," he demanded, "especially not her." He ordered, my heart leapt in my chest. John Abruzzi…sticking up for me, someone who had gotten in his way too many times already, the man that I thought wanted to kill me…could have just saved my life.

"We're locked into this thing now. Understand." He raised his voice, his grip on T-Bag's collar tightening. "That CO," he pointed in Bob's direction, "Is that only leverage we have." He shoved T-Bag away, his back hitting the wall hard as he glared at Abruzzi, who had just taken his seat. I looked at him, swallowing hard as I tried to refocus my attention on him.

"Thank you." I whispered, soon after closing my eyes as the headache increased.

"You're welcome." He answered, before turning his attention to T-Bag once more. "Now, do we have an understanding?"

"I'm on your side now. You understand me?" He argued, "I'm just goin' with the flow." I probably shouldn't have felt as safe as I did with Abruzzi around, but I did, I knew he was a murder, hell I knew he killed people because they were a dollar short on their payments…but T-Bag was afraid of him, and that's all I needed to know to feel safe. I felt vulnerable again as Abruzzi then ventured into the hole; back to just the three of us. T-Bay seized me up with his eyes as he sat back down in the chair that Abruzzi had just occupied.

"Ya' know what, Sweetpea." He drawled, leaning forward on his knees and looking straight at me; he wasn't happy either. A fire burned within them, a deep burning desire to strangle me…among other things. "I don't-"he laughed slightly, my eyes raised to meet his, "I don't know nothin' about you. Now," he reached forward, his hands running the length of my pants. My body stiffened as he squeezed the top of my thighs, I wasn't afraid of what he thinking of doing.

"What you doing?" I asked, fearing coursing though my veins; if he found that book, everything was over, this article…my life; it was all gone. He patted me down, slapping the sides of my legs his fingers snapping the waist band of my pants, hell he even patted down my chest area; that probably wasn't a bad place to hide something. My body shook and my blood rain cold, the room spinning.

"Jus' chekin' for some credentials" he drawled, biting down on his bottom lip; Bob' looked at me worried…my eyes widened. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as he patted the right side of my body, his knuckles rapping against the face of the journal; I closed my eyes, lips quivering as he hooted in response, victorious. This was it, I knew it, I might as well beg him to kill me right now.

"Woo, hoo, hoo. What have got here?" his skinny hand grouped around in my pocket, my chest rising and falling heavily with each breath I took, knowing it could be my last. His hand finally ripped from my pocket, pulling the journal out with it. "A diary." He said fake shock etched across his features. Where was Michael? Where as Abruzzi? Where was Sucre? They all promised they would be back…I guess you really can't trust anybody in here. "Tisk-tisk. You know, Sweetpea, keepin' secrets is a naughty, naughty thing to do." He scolded me, opening the small book. "You betta' be writin' nice things in here…" he trailed off as he eyes scanned over the pages, growing wide with each thing he read.

"Erica Boswell…College…" he raised his eyebrows suspiciously; a tear ran down my cheek, burning my small cuts as it ran over my lip and down my chin, landing on my pants. "Theodore Bagwell, Scofield…term paper…journalist…Rockwell…only six more days…" his voice rose with every name he read, every event was described in detail, phone calls that I had made in my spare time to Mr. Samuels and Emily were logged; my assumptions about other inmates, the dirt I had gathered. Rage twisted in his face as he marched over to me; tossing my journal aside before he grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, pulling me up from the bed. I screamed, the jerking sensations sending shockwaves though my body, my face began hot as the room spun, the pain rising and rising…never stopping. "You're a rat." He seethed, pushing me up against the bunk, struggling to keep my dead weight from falling over.

"Hey! We gotta rat in here, a filthy stinkin' rat!" he screamed shaking me violently, the back of my head hitting the metal lining of the top bunk; the metallic clang it made ran in my ears as the dark circles played at the corner of my eyes, the throbbing headache occupanied with pain now spreading from my abdomen to my neck was too much to handle…

**Additional A/N: ughhh! I tried really hard to fit the rest of the riot in here; but to avail! I promise the next chapter with feature the end of the Riot. I do realize that they're was not a lot of description and/or dialogue from Erica in this chapter, I justify this by saying (and letting you in on what is to come in the next few chaps; a) She has a few cracked and/or broken ribs, from what I heard…you can barely breath when this happens b) I focused on her eye a lot in this one; this being, her eye is swollen, T-Bag got some pretty good hits in during the first chapter of the riot c) she has a slight concussion, now, I've never had one…but I did my research, and the symptoms included delayed speech, fuzzy hearing and vision, and slow movements. I hope that helps you understand why she was so defenseless in this chapter. I'll try and have the next one out tomorrow :) Oh, there is a poll on my page concerning the sequel to this story…so go and vote if you want! Thanks.**


	18. The escape is on

**A/N: Thank for the reviews! I promise, this will be the last you see of the infamous Riot :) **

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does not belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

**Recap**_: "Hey! We gotta rat in here, a filthy stinkin' rat!" he screamed shaking me violently…_

I didn't have any strength left as he continued to shake me, my head bouncing off the metal bar of the top bunk; each time my head made that metallic clang against the furniture T-Bag's words became even more distorted, my good eye tried to focus on his face that was contorted and twisted in rage; his eyes pitting venom. I knew this was it, there was no use in fighting back this time, and I just had to accept that it was going to happen…right here, right now. I was either going to die of internal bleeding, or T-Bag was going to keep his promise and kill me quickly.

"Huh? You spyin' on us for the outside are ya! Is that what-your-doin'-here!" he stressed the words as slammed me up against the opposite wall, the terribly disfigured side of my face slamming against the concrete. Everything from that point on was unrecognizable; the room spun as I peeled myself from the wall, my body swaying to the die momentarily before I felt weightless. I only then realized that I had fallen when my body hit the concrete floor, the room still spun as I opened my eyes; pain coursing though my entire body at rapid speeds, I didn't even have enough strength to cry. I lay here, motionless as my whole life replayed though my head; my entire life seemed to flash before my eyes…my birthdays, parties, graduation, senior week, college acceptance letters, bad grades, my father's funeral…everything. I was sure I was dead when I felt myself being lifted from the floor; maybe this is what it felt like to die, huh, people always said it was painless when you saw the lights…they were dead wrong, pardon the pun. It wasn't until then that I realized I wasn't dead.

"She's rat, she's been spyin' on all of us." T-Bag voice screamed in rage; I couldn't tell if he was talking to himself still, maybe he was yelling at Bob…but, a familiar voice seemed to float though the room, but it wasn't who I'd expected to me my knight in shining armor.

"What in the hell didn't you understand about 'don't touch her.'" Abruzzi's voice boomed; I opened my eyes slowly, feeling fresh blood trickle down my lips, instant panic arose in me; it seemed as if everything still moved around me, I could feel my body shake uncontroabley. "Hey, hey kid." I felt a hand on the side of my face, "Calm down. Alright," he reassured me, hoisting me up so I was standing up right, my head fell forward; blood trickling from my mouth. "Oh, Jesus." I heard Abruzzi, mumble; I leaned against his chest, crying as the realization stuck me…I was dying.

"Did you not hear a thing I said, A-bruz-a?" T-Bag yelled, "She's been spyin on us all; writin' everything in that little black book uh hers." I felt a soft thump against my chest, sending a jolt of pain though my body; I could only imagine it was my journal. "Were in on it too, Bob?" he screeched; I didn't want to image the things he could do to him, it must have seemed a little shady, a journalist among prisoners…seemed like a good opportunity, and a hefty sum of money if that journalist could report any behavior that the CO's didn't already know about. "Cause' if ya are, woo." I heard the cracking of knuckles, "God help ya, Bobby Boy, God help ya'-" I was somewhat relieved, and irritated by the next voice I heard.

"Alright-what's going on?" Michael's voice demanded, with my cheek pressed against Abruzzi's chest I tried to look up at him, but to no avail; my head spun as my eyes began to close slowly, my body threatening to fall from its current position if it weren't for Abruzzi's arm supporting me.

"I'll tell ya' what's goin' on, Pretty," T-Bag seethed, his voice distorted and distant sounding; like he was talking to me from far, far away. "Ya' girlfriend ain't who she says she is…she ain't a con, Pretty, she's a rat."

"Scofield, that's just one more person who can give us to the feds…" I felt Abruzzi's chest rumble as he spoke, "she knows too much."

"What did you do to her?" Michael yelled, enraged. I heard the sound of something smashing against the wall, followed my T-Bag's choked voice; it I wasn't inches away from death, I would have laughed.

"Face it, pretty. You got played…" T-Bag yelled, "She tricked all of us; Bobby ova' there, probably knew all about it. We all should have known somethin' wasn't right when a woman walked up in here." His voice began to even out as I felt soft hands grip my shoulders, holding me close; I knew it was Michael, I could tell my the gentle moments he made as he held me against his chest, maneuvering me towards the doors of the cell.

"Alright, let's get everybody out of here." He ordered, "Come on," he placed his lips against my ear, whispering quietly, "We gotta get you back to your cell." I shook my head in protest, no longer feeling safe at the feeling of being thrust back into the madness outside in the wing; my eyes slowly began to close. "Hey, hey." He whispered, "You gotta keep your eyes open, come one, open em' up." He ordered softly, concern etched in every word.

"I'm gonna take care of him myself." T-Bag's voice boomed over the noise, referring to Bob; whom I had somewhat forgotten all about by that moment in time.

"You're not gonna kill him." Michael ordered, I felt myself being lifted up gently; my legs dangling over his arms as he supported my head and neck with his other arm; my own arms wrapped around my abdomen, ,vision blurring again. I couldn't hear anything else by that time, my vision was going in and out of focus; I saw a big figure, whom I could only think was Lincoln push the skinny man up against the wall, their mouths opening as they shouted. "Erica, you've got to stay awake." Michael's voice was deep and distorted, his mouth moving slowly. My vision was shot at that point, all I could see were hazy figures moving in and out of focus.

"Good-god-what-happened-to-her?" the voices sounded the same; almost like they were moaning the words or talking with their mouths full, I tried to blink. I felt my back hit something soft, the arms that were supporting me unwrapping from around my body, my head resting against something even softer.

"Don't-let-her-close-her-eyes; she-could-have-a-concussion. Erica-stay-awake-come-on."

"Who-did-this-to-her?"

"Doesn't-matter-now-make sure-she-gets-to-the-infirmary." I could feel a soft hand against my face as it brushed hair away from my forehead gently, my eyes fluttered open for a single moment, catching a glimpse of Michael's face; his eyes filled with worry as he hovered over me…everything was suddenly silent and dark.

My throat felt dry as I took a deep breath, it hitched in my throat as I felt a pain in my side; it wasn't as bad as the one that I had felt earlier…but it was close enough. I opened my eyes slowly, fear rising in me as I realized that I could only see out of one eye, I twisted my head around frantically, my eye scanning the room I was in. I wasn't in a cell of any sort, but it looked familiar enough…I'd been here once before. The walls were white, and the room smelled of peroxide and coffee; the door on the other side of the room opened slowly, the glass shaking as it shut.

"Good, you're awake." The female voice greeted me as they approached; it was Dr. Tancredi. I listened as the rolling chair that she normally occupied slid across the marble floor, stopping at the side of the gurney I was laying on. She smiled down at me as turned around, looking at her. "How are you feeling?" she said quietly, almost as if others were listening. I winched it pain as I tried to sit up, immediately a fearfully expression flashed across her face she stood up, pulling a hand on my shoulder. "Take it easy, Erica. You took quite a beating." She said, slowly pushing me back down onto the gurney. I blinked looking up at her as she starred down at me concerned, holding clip board in her hands.

"Where's-"my hand slowly reached up, feeling my left eye; I couldn't find it. Panic set in as my chest rose and fell erratically, "Where-"finally realizing my panic, Dr. Tancredi grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly.

"Calm down, calm down." She said soothingly, "It's still there, I had to put a patch over it so I'll heal correctly, alright?" she explained, my shaking hands lowered themselves slowly, my right eye blinking a few times; I nodded. All was silent for a few moments before I heard the chair creak; signaling that she had sat down. "You –uh- you're very lucky." She announced, placing a hand on my arm; I glanced over at her. How was I in any way, shape, or form lucky? "If it wasn't for Westmorland raising hell you probably wouldn't be alive right now." My eyes looked down at my hands as they folded themselves across my stomach. So that's the one that was talking…then why did I see Michael there? Maybe it was my imagination…

"Am I gonna live?" I croaked, Dr. Tancredi smiled; shaking my arm gently.

"You're gonna live." She reassured me, she then sighed out heavily; almost like she wanted to get something off her chest…it worried me. "Now that that's out of the way," she paused briefly, "You wanna know the good news or the bad news first?" she asked.

"Good news." I answered automatically, my voice quite.

"Good news." She began, "You're gonna be able to keep that eye. You should be able to open it in a few days." She informed me, I nodded understandingly. "Bad news," she paused again. "You've sustained a minor concussion, which, surprises me since the level of injuries you entered in here with should have indicated some brain hemorrhaging." She informed me, "but, like I said, you're very, very lucky. You've also sustained a few cracked ribs, and some minor internal bleeding." My blood rain ice cold in my veins, "but, don't worry, we've stopped the bleeding so you have nothing to worry about. But," she added slowly, "I want to keep you here for a few more days; you need a safe environment to recover in" I scoffed lightly…a safe environment, yes…but I really wouldn't classify a prison as a safe environment, but, I nodded in agreement anyway. I couldn't believe that I had cheated death once again, I swear, either I was one of the luckiest people on earth…or my dad was looking out for me.

But, who knew how long this lucky would last; if you think about it, I'd already lost four of my nine lives…if I was going to remain in here then I'd need to keep my nose out of others' business…then it hit me. I couldn't stay in here; I knew about their little escape, they had leverage on me. If I just kept my mouth shut, they wouldn't hurt me…on the other hand, if let the Warden know, I'd be set free; oh, the predicament I was in. "Hey," Dr. Tancredi's voice drew me out of my thoughts, I looked at her. "Part of my job is the counsel inmates…if you need someone to talk to I'm here." She informed me, before standing up. "Well, let me take a look at this eye of yours. I've got to re-bandage it." I winced in pain as she gently lifted the gauze from my eye; it felt itchy and wet, but I refrained myself from touching it; she sucked her breath in though clenched teeth, gently dabbing it with a clean cloth. "Who did this to you?" she asked, her gloved fingers resting on my temple gently as she continued to work on the wound. I shivered in disgust and horror as the events replayed in my head, his words echoing though my ears, his fists pounding away at my face…

"Theodore Bagwell." I answered weakly; she stopped for a moment, noticing how strained my voice was as I tried to hold back the tears that threatened to fall from my eyes.

"Why does that not surprise me." She questioned, setting the cloth down on the small metal tray. "Alright, I'm gonna let that air out for a bit before putting another bandage on it. You just stay here and rest okay?" she reassured me with a small smile. I nodded, but, before she could walk away, I grabbed her arm gently. She stopped and turned around.

"Dr. Tancredi," I sniffed, feeling a tear run down my cheek, "I don't think I'm going to last another fifteen years." She looked at me with sympathetic eyes; sitting back down in the chair she gripped my hand tightly, giving it reassuring squeeze.

"I know you didn't mean to do it," I looked at her, bottom lip quivering slightly, "I'm here for you, okay? Anytime you need me…I'm here." I nodded in thanks as I opened my mouth; spilling everything that happened from the day I got here, but, leaving out the part about Scofield's plan.

**Michael's POV**

"How is she?" Michael asked his body sitting on the exam table as Dr. Tancredi replaced her old latex gloves with a new pair; he watched the woman sleep from inside the exam room. The swelling in her eye had gone down significantly since the riot, but it still looked pretty bad; it was black and blue all over, and it didn't look like she could open it. Sara looked up at him momentarily before turning her attention to the sleep woman.

"She's stable." She answered shortly, grabbing the insulin from the metal tray, forcing Michael to hold his arm out for her. Usually he could have chatted her up as she took his blood sugar and administered his meds, his eyes continued to stare out of the long window that had been replaced since the mishap…his heart lurched in his chest. He blamed himself for the situation she was in; he had to make it up to her some how. He hadn't quite figured out if what T-Bag had said was true, until he found the small marbled journal lying in his cell; as soon as he opened it he knew T-Bag was telling the truth…but he wasn't mad a her, oh no, it made him feel even more responsible for her. It touched him when he read the bits about Lincoln's innocence that she had jotted down in the notebook, finally realizing that he was the real reason that she was here…sort of like he was. "Alright, , you're all done." She informed him with a cold voice, he slowly slid off the table, his boots hitting the floor with a thud before he stuck his hand in his pocket; from it, he produced the notebook, holding out toward Dr. Tancredi.

"Can you give this to her." He commanded than asked; his lips pushed in a straight line as he glanced out of the window, his eyes passing over her once more. A weight was lifted from his shoulders as Sara slowly took the book from him, nodding as she placed it in her lab coat pocket. With out another glance he left the room, his hand digging in his pocket once more as he produced small origami rose from his pocket, looking back to make sure Sara was looking he gently placed it on the pillow beside Erica's head.

The escape was on.

**End POV**


	19. Are you in?

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews and subscriptions! I think this is the longest fic I've ever written…and forty reviews already! Wooo! I promise the escaping is coming soon :) Oh, and whoever can guess Ms. Jones' connection to Sara and Gov Tancredi gets a plate of cookies!**

**Important: The poll on my page is still open! So, vote :)**

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does not belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

I opened my eyes slowly, blinking the sleep away as I yawned. Closing my eyes again, my wrists twisted in an odd way as I let my finger tips glide over the white face of the pillow; I was thankful for the isolation. It had been two days since the riot broke out, two days since I'd been in Gen-pop…I think I was staring to forget how dangerous it was down there. Stretching my arms over my head I immediately winced in pain, the sharp sensation shooting through my side; I quickly put my arms back down, sucking my breath in though gritted teeth. I reopened my eyes slowly, looking around the bright white room; Dr. Tancredi had ordered a transfer to the hospital, but since Warden Pope refused to let any prisoners go to the hospitals around the state, especially one that wasn't supposed to be there in the first place, Dr. Tancredi was forced to make due with the resources she had; which meant clearing out one of the old examination rooms and having a guard stationed round the clock to make sure I was alright. It wasn't bad having my "own" room, but, I did feel terrible leaving Westmorland all by himself; he seemed to be deprived of a real friend in this place, and I felt like I had abandoned him. Sighing out heavily, I looked up at the ceiling; I had to use the bathroom. I turned my head to the left, noticing that the bathroom door was open; biting my bottom lip I sighed out heavily, contemplating weather or now I should try to move. Taking a deep breath I swung my legs, very slowly that is, to the left side of the gurney, attempting to slide myself onto the floor. The sudden pinching in my side my side made me think twice, I could almost imagine the sound the ribs would make if I were to slip and fall; wincing at the thought my brought my legs back onto the bed, hiding them under the soft white blanket. If the current state I was in didn't give the Warden the proof he needed to show that I wasn't a killer…then I don't know what will. I shifted my head to the right, my hair sticking to the face of the pillow, looking for something to do; I guess inmates didn't get magazines or crossword puzzles when they were in recovery. I squinted my eyes together and knitted my brows as I saw a blurry figure on the side of my pillow, sitting up slowly, and once again, carefully I starred down at the object.

It didn't take me long to figure out whom it was from; the folded flower gave it away. Apprehensively, I reached my hand out and carefully picked up the paper art, a microscopic smile gracing my lips; at least he felt bad enough to send me something. I shook my head, rolling my eyes slightly as I bit down on my lip; remembering the other ones he had snuck to me on several occasions. That's only thing I learned about his little crafts, they're was always a reason behind them; it wasn't like he just felt like toiling away at a paper figurine for god knows how long. I sat up even more, taking my time as I gently placed the pillow behind my back, making myself somewhat comfortable; how did he get it in here anyways? I mean, it was from him…right. Just as I was about to open the small folders of the pink and purple paper the door knob turned…

**Sara Pov**

I sighed as I sent another inmate on his way; informing him to stay safe, even thought I knew that he was likely to show up back in the infirmary in just another day's time. Tossing the clipboard somewhat carelessly onto the metal desk of the small examination room I sighed, resting my gloved hands on the edge of the desk and closing my eyes for a split second. Visions of the incredible riot that happened only two days ago flashed though my mind; the prisoners breaking the glass, their shouts filling my mind as they tried everything in their will to harasses and possibly kill me, and Michael. I opened my eyes as his desperate look of hope filled my mind once more; beckoning for me to grab his hand…he saved my life. My life, at the moment, was something I wasn't too fond or pound of for that matter; and ever since Boswell came to this place things have been even stranger…

_The unarmed cops grabbed me by the arms, covering my hand with their arms as they rushed me to safety; I took a quick glance back over my shoulder, watching as several bullets tore threw the building from the snipers on the roof. _

"_Michael." I whispered, fear coursing though my words; he was the one person in that building that risked his life to save mine…that's not a quality that you find very often in an inmate…or a man these days, for that matter. Once we were safely by the ambulance I let myself breath, resting my hands on my knees as I bent over, wiping the sweat from my brow before standing back up straight; taking a deep breath and watching as the SWAT teams rushed towards the prison once more, determined to finish the job. I turned my head, my neck straining to look beyond the scores of people that lined the gates outside…looking for my father; in all honesty, I would be surprised if he even decided to show up…but it wasn't that person that surprised me the most. _

"_Ms. Jones?" I whispered, in disbelief. She was standing with another blonde girl; her hair was shoulder length, both wore looks of worry as they starred at the scene unfolding beyond the fence. I knitted my brow in confusion as I jogged towards them, thinking of any reason she would be here. _

"_Ms. Jones." I said again, loud enough for her to hear me this time. She turned quickly, her eyes wide, surprise flashed though them for a moment before she smiled half-heartedly; the girl next to her wore a confusion expression upon her face as well. I hadn't seen Ms. Jones since my time at the AA meetings, she was the main counselor, well, the one I got along with the most, she was sort of like another mother to me, and it wasn't a secret that my father was quite fond of her as well. _

"_Sara." She greeted me, opening her arms for a hung. I smiled, holding her close, a lump rising in my throat. She must have remembered that I worked here; after finishing the meetings she convinced me to go back to being doctor, knowing that I loved helping people; she didn't want to throw all that away just because of an addiction. If anyone could take credit for helping me break my addiction of morphine; it was her. "What- I mean, are you okay?" she asked concerned as we pulled away from each other; she held me out in front of her, looking me over. _

"_Yeah," I nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah, Ms. Jones, I'm fine. But, "I raised my eyebrows slightly, "But-what are you doing here?" I asked, not wanting to sound rude, especially if she had come to check on me. She seemed to pause for a long moment; nodding her head quickly…she looked dumbfounded. _

"_Oh, I just-I remembered your father telling me that you took on this job-he-he called me right away when he heard about what happened. I just wanted to see if you were okay." She said quickly. My heart leapt in my chest; she did care. "Did you're father see you yet…he's looking for you." She added quickly…_

I bit the inside of my cheek and looked down at the watch on my wrist; noon. Taking the latex gloves off quickly, the snapping sound filling the room, I flung them into the trash can by the door as I saw my way out. I'd have to change Erica's bandages, it wasn't the ribs I was worried about; her eye was my concern. I had her isolated from the other prisoners and put under twenty four hour watch, just as a precaution. Digging into my white lab coat pocket, I pulled the keys from my pocket, my feet carrying me though the silent hallway. The blinds were pulled down over the windows, keeping her hidden from the views of the other prisoners…especially Theodore Bagwell; whom had been in the infirmary twice this week already. As far as I could tell, I was the only one who knew the identity of the person responsible for her injuries, if word got back to Bagwell that she had squealed, she wouldn't last another second once she was put back in Gen-pop. I looked both ways, making sure that no guards were brining any inmates down the corridor, the key twisted in the lock; making a metallic click…

**End Pov**

I quickly shoved the flower into my pocket, holding my breath as the knob turned even more, a metallic clicking noise filling the air. Pulling the pillow out from behind my head I winced in pain, laying myself gently back down onto the bed; my eyes shifting towards the bathroom door. I let my breath out as the familiar red head walked in to the room, a smile plastered on her face. I smiled back, weakly, that is.

"Good afternoon." She greeted, walking towards the side of the bed as she closed the door behind her, it shut quietly, the blinds on the windows rattling slightly. Her hand reached out and grabbed the clipboard from the metal rolling tray that was stationed at my bedside; I was surprised I didn't notice it there before. I knitted my brows together.

"Afternoon?" I asked, inquiring the time of day; she looked at me and raised her eyebrows, flipping though the file slowly.

"Yes, afternoon, those painkillers I gave you were stronger than I anticipated." She laughed softly, I nodded in agreement; my mind quickly wondering back to the flower that I had found on my pillow, contemplating weather or not asking her about it.

"Dr. Tancredi," I asked, she looked up from her sheet she was so intently studying, raising an eyebrow. "The other inmates don't know I'm in here, right?" I asked, careful not to tip her off about anything. She looked me, knitting her brows together; she knew something was up.

"Yes." She drawled out slowly, "I made sure of that. Why? Is everything okay?" she asked, concern instead of skepticism lacing her words this time. I quickly nodded, trying to be as normal as possible. Michael must of slipped it onto the pillow during his daily run for meds; Dr. Tancredi must be really good at keeping out of others business, but if I was a nurse…I would have read the paper by now; which is what I need to do.

"Yeah, It's just-you know, nerves." I reassured her. Maybe Michael had another clever way of getting out…breaking out; T-Bag's words echoed in my mind, even though I could barely recognize each syllable he was saying at that point in time; break out and prison in one sentence was sounding like a good plan, actually. She nodded, understanding my fear, I'd probably have PTSD for the rest of my life, kinda like my grandfather, when he was younger he was thrust into World War II; some of the stories he'd filled my head with was the main reason I wanted to be a journalist…well, him and my father.

"Okay." She nodded, looking me over as he set her clipboard down on the metal tray, "The guard should be brining up your lunch now; I can't give you your pills due to the painkillers you're on, so he's going to provide water, is that alright?" I nodded rather quickly, attempting to sit up; her hand quickly reached out, helping me situate myself atop the bed. "Alright. Well, I have to get back to the infirmary but if you-"realization hit me. I wouldn't have another chance to look at the flower once Tancredi was gone, the guard would be breathing down my neck every second while I finished my meal, my mind raced as I watched her walk towards the door, my mind on overdrive; thinking of a plan off the tip of your head wasn't as easy as some people made it look.

"Dr. Tancredi!" I quickly called, just as her hand touched the door knob; my eyes wide as I starred at the back of her head, she turned slowly.

"Yes?"

"Umm-"my eyes quickly adverted to the open bathroom door, "I need to use the restroom." I answered quickly, not completely lying…but not completely telling the truth either. She took her hand from the door knob and nodded, walking back towards the bed, setting the file back down onto the metal tray she stood at the side of the bed, waiting for me.

"Are you sure you can do this, Erica? You haven't been on your feet in a few days, and I'm sure the pain-" she began to explain, watching my face with growing tension as I slowly swung my legs over the side of the gurney, wincing in pain. She grasped my right arm tightly, helping me down from the bed.

"I really need to go." I informed her, giving a weak smile as she wound an arm around my waist, the other supporting my back as she helped me towards the open door. I took small steps, my knees shaking as the pain jolted though the left side of my body; I gritted my teeth, every time I took a step the door seemed to get farther and farther away. Finally reaching the god forsaken brown face of the door, she flipped the light on, opening the door wider.

"You have it from here?" she asked, hearing the caution in her voice; careful not to cross any boundaries. Smiling the best I could, I held onto the wall, my body scaling it slowly as I walked into the small bathroom.

"No, I've got it, but thank you." I said politely, gritting in pain as I shut the door behind me.

"Okay, just let me know when you're done." Her voice trailed off slightly. I locked the door behind me and lifted the lid of the toilet carefully, making sure that I made it seem like I was going to the bathroom. I leaned up against the wall, the pain in my ribs almost too much to bear as I leaned my head back, slowly shoving my hand into my pocket as I squeezed my eyes shut, willing the pain to stay a bay. Pulling my small flower from my pocket with shaking fingers I opened the many creased flaps that made the flower, careful not to rip any of them so I could reconstruct the craft when I was done. I really hope going though this pain was worth it…

Opening the small flower I noticed the small handwriting. _Are you in?_ I sighed out heavily, my mind processing the words that were scrawled on the paper…surely, he didn't mean…

"Erica, are you alright?" Dr. Tancredi's voice shattered my thoughts, if it wasn't for my quick reflexes I would have dropped the flower on the floor; unable to pick it up. I jumped slightly as her hand wrapped against the wooden face, urgent in pace. "Miss. Boswell?" I quickly shoved the flower back into my pocket; it's wiring still flashing through my mind. I quickly flushed the toilet and let the lid fall back down onto the seat.

"Yes,-I'm" I winched as pain as I opened the door, sweating beading my forehead as I leaned against the door; Dr. Tancredi's face searched mine, worried, " I'm fine. You were right about the painkillers." I seethed, taking a deep breath a she helped me back over to the bed. I sat down, painfully; wincing as she held me bring my legs back onto the bed slowly. She sighed as she stepped away from the bed, her hand reaching into her pocket; I didn't even notice what she had pulled anything from her coat, my mind was too busy focusing on the note that I had just gotten. Of course, join us or die…it was just that simple. I was leverage now, and the only way to stay alive was the break out…I tried to keep my erratic breathing under control.

"Scofield wanted me to give you this." She informed me, at the mention of his name I snapped my head up, immediately coming out of my thoughts as she held the journal out in my direction. My breath hitched in my throat, realization of the predicament I was just thrust into hitting me in the face; they knew, well, at least Michael knew. I prayed that the others didn't. Slowly I reached out taking the journal from her, eyes wide as I tried to keep my actions calm and unafraid; my hand gripped the dirty journal, I could tell that some pages had been ripped and tattered, I couldn't tell if any were missing or not. How could this situation could get any worse…

I learned that the situation could worse, much worse. Three days later Dr. Tancredi informed me that I was being sent back to Gen-Pop; I initially protested the move, not only because I was clearly wasn't well enough to be put back in a cell with inmates, but because they knew. There was no I would be able to keep a low profile in this place, especially if word got out that I was a journalist; I'd have more than just Abruzzi and T-Bag after me. It was after breakfast when the guard led me out to the yard; the sun hurt my eyes as it shone down upon me, laughing at the fear that radiated out of every pore in my body. I took a shaky breath, but not too deep due to dull pain that still seemed to arise when I so much as talked. Ignoring the stares and whispers I got from the other inmates I walked towards the small picnic table; I sighed in relief as I noticed Westmorland sitting in the same spot as always, his nose too deep in his book to recognize anything else. I was sure most of the stares were directed at my face; last time I checked my left eye was still swollen, not as bad as it was a few days ago, but it sill didn't look pretty. It was a dark purple color now, and I could still barely open it. My lip was bused in several places, and my gait was slow and careful as I put as much pressure as I could on the opposite side of my bruised ribs.

"Hi." I said quietly, holding my side as I stopped at the picnic table, squinting my good eye as the sun moved its rays towards me. Westmorland looked up slowly; pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose. I didn't look too happy that someone had brought him out of his fantasy land, but once he saw who it was he smiled widely.

"Well, look whose back." He stood up, placing a hand on my shoulder slightly; I smiled. "It's been pretty lonely in that place. Glad to have ya back." I knitted my brows together; I knew he didn't have any human interaction other than me, but he did have…

"Where's Marilyn?" I asked, realizing that his precious cat was no where to be seen; usually that animal followed him everywhere.

"Got spooked during the riot." He said, waving it off as though he had lost a pencil or some other no important object. "She's around here somewhere." He reassured me, his head turning in either direction as if she was going to reappear at any moment; I could tell he was worried.

"I'm sorry, Charles."

"Don't you worry yourself. She'll show up eventually." He said, he sounded to be reassuring himself more than me this time. "How's that eye?" he suddenly asked, gesturing to the small bowling ball that sat on the side of my face.

"It's well," T-Bag's hand flashed thought my mind, I blinked slightly, pushing the thoughts away "ya know" I finished my voice trailing off quietly. "I want to thank you, by the way," I suddenly said, he sat back down on the picnic table; I continued to stand, knowing that sitting in my condition wasn't an option. "Um. Dr. Tancredi told me…if it wasn't for you," I nodded, smiling slightly "I wouldn't be here, right now."

"Well, that's mighty generous of you, but." I knitted my eyebrows, my lips pushing in a straight line as I crossed my arms over my chest gently, "You outta be thanking Mr. Scofield. He's the one that made sure you got there." I looked down at the ground surprised before I looked back up at Westmorland, his glasses on the edge of his nose as he smiled. I nodded slowly, so Scofield was the last person I saw…

"Um. Thanks for the tip." I answered, turning my body around to face the various sides of the fence; Westmorland grunted in response quietly before he picked up his book and continued to read. Scofield usually hung around the fences a lot, I began to walk, trying to see which one of the bald inmates by the fence was Scofield…but they all looked the same. I gasped as I felt someone grip my elbow rather tightly, I was too afraid to look back at who it was; I was relieved though who ever it was, they were too muscular to be T-Bag.

"We're takin' a walk." Abruzzi's voice spat quietly, the grip on my elbow tightening as he dragged me over towards the fence farthest away from the doors leading back into the prison, and the one farthest away from the guards…


	20. Can't beat em', join em'

**A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews/alerts/and favorites! I've had a terrible, terrible day so those seemed to make it better! Thanks to all those who voted in the poll; it will stay open until the end of this fic. So far: **

**4- Want Erica to live**

**1- Wants her dead**

**1- Wants Mahone to arrest her**

**I think I've found which one is in the lead.**

**Notice: Please! If you are one of the people who either voted her dead or voted her arrested…send me a PM (so I can write an alternate ending, just for you!)**

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does not belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

**Recap:** _"We're takin' a walk." Abruzzi's voice spat quietly, the grip on my elbow tightening as he dragged me over towards the fence farthest away from the doors leading back into the prison, and the one farthest away from the guards…_

Paralyzing fear over took me as we neared the fence; it was hidden behind apart of the prison that protruded out ward onto the field, why a prison what make such a spot was beyond me. Abruzzi's head turned quickly several times, checking to make sure that none of the inmates, especially the officers, were following us. My nostrils flared as I tried to steady my shallow breathing; his grip on me tightened as I flinched away, attempting to rip out of his grasp. I wasn't sure how fast I could run, but, I probably wouldn't make it very far. I winced as his dirty fingernails dug into my skin.

"I didn't say anything." I hissed, fear lacing each word. "I swear to god, I didn't." I pleaded again, my neck twisting to get a good look at him. He pulled me to a halt, my body barely keeping its balance.

"Hey," he spat harshly; the shadow from the building loomed over us, blocking all harsh rays from the sun; a cold chill blew though the breeze, wiping small strands of hair across my forehead, picking at the lazily did bun that sat atop my head. I squinted as I continued to look at him, unshed tears and the cold breeze stinging my eyes. "The best thing you can do now…is keep your mouth shut." He hissed, rising his eyebrows quickly and very his head towards the building once more.

Fear ran though me once more as he continued to tug me towards the shady structure; I could already see the plan unfolding. Michael and rest of them weren't apart of this one at all. This was all T-Bag and Abruzzi's plan, they were the only two who wanted me dead as soon as they found out I was a journalist. This was it; I swallowed the lump that formed in my throat. No one ever know what happened; and this was probably the one, and only time, that a mob boss and a pedophile would band together in some secret alliance to take out a poor defenseless journalist. I could already picture T-Bag hiding in the shadows, a shank or rope held in his hand, which one he saw fit. As soon as Abruzzi got close enough to his destination T-Bag would spring into action, Abruzzi holding me motionless as the skinny man gutted me. I tried to plant my feet firmly on the grass, the shade providing it with just enough slippery dew to make me loose my footing, my boots made a squeaking noise as they slid though the green blades of plants; he continued to half pull half push me towards the destination.

I let my breathing relax as I saw the familiar bald head come into view; it was Michael. I sighed out in relief, trying to keep the somewhat thankful smile off my face as he turned slowly, his eyes dark and quite intimating in the shade. Only one other man stood with him, Sucre; his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned up against the side of the building. Abruzzi let go of my arm abruptly, seeming to push me forwards before taking a quick glance behind him; once again, he turned his attention back to the three of us. An uneasy feeling washed over me as Michael turned, his hands leaving the mesh fence as it rattled slightly, his arms hung down by his sides as he walked a few inches, stopping in front of me.

"I-I didn't say anything." I stuttered, Abruzzi stood behind me; rocking back and forth on his balls of his feet, Sucre approached Michael from the right side; standing next to him as if he was his second in command. "I promised. I didn't and-and I'm not going-"the words seemed to escape my lips all at once, jumbling together in one big long sentence.

"Whoa, whoa. Kid, slow down. We just wanna chat, so relax." Abruzzi's voice came from behind, I turned. His hands were held up in a defensive manner, motioning me to calm down or else I was sure to alert the "authorities."

"I didn't say anything." I reassured them again, this time looking back at Michael. He starred down at me, completely silent; his eyes did all the talking. I didn't know if this was such a good time to thank him for returning my journal or not…

"Why are you here?" he asked, seeming to ignore all other things that had been said. His voice wasn't cold, and it was hard or angry…it was somewhat calm, but uninviting at the same time. I looked down at the ground quickly, but I could still feel his eyes, and the eyes of the other two men, awaiting my answer. I didn't want to tell him the truth; I'd made it this far on a lie…

"What-what do you mean?" I laughed nervously; I could see Sucre roll his eyes out of the corner of my eye, running a hand over his face before resting it on his chin. "I'm-I'm obviously here for the same reasons you-"Michael took a deep breath in, his fists clenching together down by his sides; it frightened me to see him angry…I'd never seen that before.

"I'm gonna stop you there," Abruzzi interrupted me, walking from behind me so that he was no on my right side; making sure that I could see every flame that flickered in his eyes, hear every ounce of anger and frustration in his words. "We all read your little diary…Miss. Boswell." He emphasized my name, shoving his hands into his pockets as another breeze blew though the shaded area; I shivered. "Now, you know our secret," he raised his eyebrows, taking his hands from his pockets and motioning to Sucre, Michael, and himself. "And since that's that case, you're gonna tell us everything we want to know," this seemed to be turning into a threat, "unless, you want your secret getting out. Understood?" his voice was low and menacing as he leaned forward, making sure that I was getting the full affect of the message he was trying to get across to me.

I shook my head, still denying to divulge any information. Sucre groaned, turning around and heading for the fence; already he was fed up with me. Michael's jaw worked slowly, his mouth opening and closing as she seemed to try and calm himself, I licked my lips; my throat had already become quite dry by this point. "I'm here for the same reasons you guys are. Why else would they-"

"No, you're not." Michael sighed, his patience wearing thin; I could hear it in his voice. He turned around ran a hand over his semi bald head, frustrated. I shuffled my feet in the grass, my hand rubbing up and down my left arm, standing awkwardly.

"Come on, spit it out." Abruzzi hissed as he grabbed my arm, twisting me around so that I was facing him, chest to chest. It was intimidating, I looked up into his face; seeing that every ounce of pent up and recent anger was now directed towards me, he shook me slightly, his hands down gripping my shoulders; I winched in pain. "We're not playing here, kid." I looked down at the ground, I'd been on the verge of death too many times in the last couple of days…maybe it just time to accept that it was coming; he shook me again, this time more violently. "You think I won't kill you?" he asked harshly, cocking his head to side slightly. "I don't want to," he breathed out, gripping my shoulders tightly; I waited for Michael to step in, to help me…but he didn't, he shook me again. "I have a little girl, and as much as it pains me to say this," his voice was strained. " I will kill you, because if what you were doing here is designed to-to somehow keep inmates in the system longer for things that they've done in prison; I'm gonna be in here a lot longer than I thought." He shook me once more, seemingly the last time. "And I will hurt anyone who gets in the way of me getting out to see my _daughter_. You hear me?" he let go of my shoulders slowly.

Michael's eyes seemed to apologize as I took a deep breath; glancing back at Abruzzi, who chewed on the inside of his cheek, his arms crossed over his chest. Sucre had joined to small ground once again, now interested in what I was going to say. I never thought telling a secret would be the hardest thing to do. I took another deep breathing, blinking several times.

"I'm a journalism major-"I began, and it felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. It was suddenly easier to breathe, easier to talk, and easier to stand. Sucre scoffed quietly.

"A spy, _papi_, they sent her here to spy-"his voice accused, he turned around to face the other side of the fence; he seemed somewhat angry.

"I'm not a spy." I snapped defensively, crossing my arms over my chest as Sucre turned to glare at me. Michael took a step towards me, crossing his arms over his chest as well, pressuring me to continue. "For my midterm paper I did-I did an article on Vice President Reynolds," Michael's expressed seemed to change from interested to surprised, arms now hanging down by his sides once more. "And-and hinted on points of her brothers' death." I cut my eyes slightly; shrugging my shoulders like it wasn't a big deal. "For my term paper," I scoffed slightly, crossing my arms over my chest, "the one that gets us the job at the _Chicago Times_," I bet my lip slight; thinking of how my life was completely ruined now. There was no way I was going back to college; I'd worked my butt off all four years of High School…and for what? A story that landed me in prison…literally. "And I decided to do, a follow up,"

"Because the killer of the vice presidents brother resided behind these walls…" Michael said coldly, his eyes burning holes in my skull. I nodded apprehensively; not sure if it was a rhetorical statement that needed an answer or if he really wanted to know the reason why I was here.

"Exactly, If I could get a one on one with the killer of her brother-"

"My brother didn't kill anyone." Michael spat, looking disappointed. Sucre stood with is hands on his hips, looking down towards the ground; another cold chill ran though the air. "My brother is innocent." He continued, pointing an accusing finger in my direction, his eyes spitting venom. My throat felt dry as Michael continued to scold me; his brother.

"You're-you're Lincoln's brother?" I asked, surprised. It all made sense to me now…we were here for the same man, just different reasons. I stopped his verbal abuse and looking up at me, a look of surprise also etched in his features.

"Yes." He answered lowly. I let a scoff erupt from my throat as I looked back down at the ground, taking a deep breath in carefully, exhaling as my head spun. I had to keep this story going, just think about everything I could learn from these two. My lips twitched, and if I could prove Lincoln's innocence…I could get any journalism gig I wanted, no questions asked.

"I know he didn't." I breathed out, Michael looked surprised again; this time his features softened, and he stepped towards me again.

"Then why are you here? Really, why?" he asked, his voice soft; the other two crowded around us, straining to hear the hush-hush conversation that was converging between the two of us; I blinked several times before answer.

"For the same reason you are," I paused, choosing the next two words that came from my mouth very carefully, "Lincoln Burrows." He looked more relieved than surprised. We starred at each other for a few moments, each of our eyes communicating the same thing; full of questionable glances and the fear, I could feel intimidation surge though mine several times.

"Look," Abruzzi interrupted us, I blinked first; looking anywhere but at Michael, "This is all very touching, fish. But isn't there something that we have to discuss now," he pressed, his voice low and uninviting. "Because after this, you ain't gonna get another chance to do it." I knitted my eyebrows together; they had all the information they needed, what else could they possibly- my mind suddenly flashed back to the rose that lay open in my hands just days ago. _Are you in?_

"Are you in?" Michael's voice radiated, almost like he was reading right from the paper flower he had given me, his hands now shoved into his pockets; an anxious look covering his face. I looked from him, and then at the other two; Abruzzi's hand covered his mouth as he awaited my answer, Sucre seemed to be holding his breath…why were they talking about.

"What?" I asked, some what confused; still trying to fit all the pieces together. Abruzzi's hand suddenly flew from his mouth, his hand gesturing towards Michael.

"Fish, here was supposed to drop you a note. Did you read it?" he asked hurriedly, his eyes glaring at me; I nodded quickly. A scarstic look covered his face as he gestured towards me, his slight Italian accent hurried. "Then it's a yes or no question. But kid, we don't have all day. So what's it gonna be? Yes or no."

I ran a hand though my hair, shaking my head. I wasn't saying yes, but I wasn't saying no either. They couldn't possibly mean…escaping. I mean no matter how hard they worked at this it could never be done…or else someone would have done it already. My mouth went try, hands trembling. "Look, I have no idea-"

"The escape." Michael's monotone voice rang, I turned and faced him; he took another step towards me. My eyes widened, just when I thought things couldn't possibly get worse, that would just be another thing to add to my list of "crimes" against society. Join em' or die...it didn't get any clearer than this.

"Michael, you can't-you can't expect me-" I began to argue, like we'd known each other out whole lives; it was quite and odd relationship that we had developed; it was going on two weeks now, two weeks that I have been stuck in this hellhole, with no way out. Until now…but I couldn't take it.

"Actually, it's exactly what we expect you do to." Abruzzi's voice rang; I was starting to get the feeling that Abruzzi was the ring leader in all of this, or at least the enforcer. "Because if you don't, there's no way of making sure that your going to keep your mouth shut," he leaned downs towards me, bending so he was to my level once more. "Unless we kill you; and, as I've already said…I won't hesitate to do it." My eyes widened, finally realizing that I really didn't have a choice in all of this; I hesitantly nodded my head, weighing my pros and cons. There really weren't too many of them to go between; Pro- I would be out of prison, Con- If we got caught, and we were sure to…even without me running my mouth; there was still T-Bag worry about, my already ridiculous sentence would be lengthened by at least ten years. Taking a deep breath, and saying a silent prayer my mouth opened, forming the two words that could potentially end or save my life.

"I'm in."

I sat the tray down on the table; keeping my good eye open for any shady activity, which seemed to always be going on. I had abandoned my original spot with Westmorland for a secluded table at the far end of the mess hall; I carefully rubbed my swollen eye, still not being able to see properly. My stomach did flips as I thought about the utterly ridiculous scheme I had just deemed myself a participant in; there was absolutely no way it could be done. I looked up slowly as a pair of arms came into view, tattoos embedded in the skin. Michael sat down beside me slowly, a small smile on his face as he dug in his pocket; he slowly slid something under my tray. I knitted my eyebrows together and carefully took the plastic card from under the tray, keeping it flat on the table, just in case I was the only one who was supposed to see it. PI.

"What's this?" I asked, turning to Michael; he looked straight a head for a few seconds before his eyes connected with mine; I looked away slightly. Yeah, yeah; so I was a little uncomfortable having an attractive man sit next to me when my eye was the size of a bowling ball…wouldn't any girl? He smiled a little, his finger pointing the flimsy plastic in my hand.

"That's a PI card." He informed me, his lips twisting into a smirk slowly. I raised an eyebrow before slipping it into my pocket; carefully sliding in between the pages of the book, making sure that it wouldn't be lost.

"What's it for?" he took a bite of his food slowly, but swallowed it rather quickly; it's probably the only way one could stomach this slush. I was fortunate enough to have Dr. Tancredi occasionally share half a sandwich with me while I was in recovery. Michael turned and laughed slightly, I think it the first time I'd ever seen him somewhat happy.

"Prison Industries." I knitted my eyebrows together again; still not getting the message. I laughed slightly, I must have looked pretty stupid and out of place, I shook my head; letting him know I was uneducated about such things in the prison world. "What? You didn't think we were just going to walk out of here, did you?" I could tell he was trying to lighten the situation, and I had to give it to him…he was doing a pretty good job of it.

"It's our way out." He informed me again. I nodded again. Our, we…looks like I was part of the team.

"Why me?" I asked suddenly, pushing my tray away from me; resting my elbow on the table I looked at him. He starred at me for a few moments, his eyes occasionally adverting towards the white face of the round table that we occupied.

"My whole plan changed when you I saw you in the Warden's office." He answered, seeming go let out a breath that he had been holding for quite some time. I couldn't deny that this made me feel a little better, I was taken back by his bluntness though; surely someone could just look a person and decide that they were their top priority. "You and my brother are the only two I want to get out of here." He answered his voice low. His gesture of kindness touched me, my heart burned slightly.

"But-what about Abruzzi and-and Sucre. Aren't they in on it too?" I asked, seemingly confused. He nodded slowly.

"Yes, but we need them to break out; but after that-"he trailed off, slowly. I could hear the regret in his voice over anything else. He didn't like the fact that he was using them to get us out of here, I scoffed inwardly; there I go using the words us and we.

"Yeah, but-but why me? Why risk getting caught for a person that you don't even know?" I pressed, his eyes met mine. It didn't occur to me that maybe, just maybe we had a genuine connection from the start; a sort of need for each other.

"Because," he answered lowly; his voice barely above a whisper, "You and Lincoln are the only two people who don't deserve to be here." He finished. He was right, I wasn't supposed to be here, it all made since now…I was part of this whole plan from the moment I stepped though that door. I concentrated back on the mush that lined my plate as Sucre approached us; he still seemed a little on edge about me joining their little escape.

**A/N: Sorry for the terrible ending :p**


	21. Route 66

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews/alerts/favorites :) I realize that I haven't been updating as much as I usually do. I've been really busy with school and college scholarship stuff, so glad for the long four day weekend and Thanksgiving break coming up! This will now be taking place more within the show; so I'm sure all you PB fans will be able to recognize what is mine and what isn't. **

**Episode: "**_The Old Head" _

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does not belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

**

* * *

****Three weeks later….**

** Emily's Pov.**

I placed the phone to my ear, my eyes scanning the empty apartment building. It was quite chilly for it being late summer. I opened the windows to let the dust and whatever bugs had taken refuge in the underused apartment out into the free air. Every few seconds I turned to make sure no one was rapping at the door, I knew Erica's neighbors were the nosey sort. Yes, I did sneak into her apartment, but, it really can't be classified as breaking and entering; since I used the key that I had stolen from her mother's car three weeks ago. I couldn't understand why it took me so long to make a move. The silver key sat on the desk back at my apartment, the light from the overhead lamp shining on it like a being from another world; it caught my attention several times, but each time the glistening light caught my eyes, I turned away. Each time my fingers stretched for the utensil, I drew it away quickly, almost as if it was going to burn me; I didn't have the guts to do it. Finally, last night as I lay on the couch, the clock reading twelve-forty five am; the only light came from the television screen as the anchor woman spoke in a monotone voice, repeating the list of current events that the well hidden teleprompter was feeding her. Something within my normally meddling façade broke. And now I'm here, constantly watching my back and flinching at each and every creak that the apartment moaned, listening to the phone ring on the other end.

You wouldn't believe how long it took me to find Erica's address book; I wasn't used to a desk being neat and well kempt; all the files were color coded, all books were put in alphabetical order, all sticky notes were neatly stacked and color coded as well, and each and ever pencil was sharpened to perfection and sat in a dark blue holder, tip side up. The bright green, and very sizeable, address book was hidden under a slew of papers that were oddly shoved into the desk. "Charles, Charles…Charles Boswell." I whispered, triumph etched in every word as I sighed out heavily, my finger landing beneath the neatly scrawled name, it slowly shifted to the right side of the paper, my eyes reading the number backward and forwards; I'd need to remember it for future references, though my mind was still young, I was never good at remember things. Without a second thought I ripped the page from the book, saying a silent apology to my imaginary friend, she'd be horrified if she'd known I had done this to her precious phonebook. I mean there were thousands of numbers in here; colleges, reps offices, politicians, television stations…you name it, she probably had a number for it. I was drawn out from my thoughts as a small, and childish voice floated over the phone; I quickly pushed a strand of blonde hair behind my ears, heart beating in my chest as I tried to remember the words I had so religiously rehearsed for hours on end.

"Hello?" I asked kindly, being careful not to come off as too strong, but not too weak either.

"Hello?" the soft voice rang, I could yells in the background; I wasn't sure if the television set was up that loud or if other people were talking. It occurred to me that the voice on the other end belonged to an individual that was more or less, a toddler. "May I ask who is calling?" I couldn't help but smile at the voice on the other end of the line, so professional and grown up…it must run on Erica's father's side of the family.

"Yes, yes. I'm a friend of your father's. Is he-"before I could answer my questioned the small voice filled the receiver once again; yep, diffidently runs on his side. Erica had a way of answering questions before anyone was done with asking them.

"Do you want to talk to him?" I knitted my brows together as I listened to the other voices on the other end of the phone, they were harsh and scolding. _"Who's that? What did I tell you about answering the phone? Go get your coat on; we're going to be late."_

"Hello?" a very masculine voice floated though the phone now; it seemed that everything was falling into place now. The voice sounded rushed, the man's breath coming in small rasps.

"Hello? Charles Boswell?" I asked, immediately scolding my self mentally; of course it was him.

"Yes, yes, this is he. May I ask whose calling?" he asked, sounding a little more calmed, though I spoke too soon. _"Annabelle, help your sister put her shoes on."_

"Yes, I'm a friend of your cousin's, I-I don't think we've met before-" I attempted to explain, I'm sure being lawyer he had a lot of threats, I just wanted to specify who I was, but like I said…the Boswell's had a way of interrupting conversations.

"Which cousin?" he chuckled, "I've got like a million of them." This was true; the Boswell's were a large family, at least on her dad's side. Erica's mother was an only child, and both her parents were only children; so once her parents died that was it, she was the last of the Jones'. Boswell's on the other hand; her father was the middle child of eight children, and each of those eight children had at least three or four of their own, and then those children had about five or six of there own…do you see where I'm going with this. Unfortunately, or fortunately; however you want to look at it; Erica's parent's decided to take the easy road and have on child.

"Erica, the one in Chicago." I answered, holding my cell phone close to my ear and sitting down in the kitchen, closest to the window that generated the most light. It had almost been four weeks since she was locked up in that place, I guess she survived the riot, Ms. Jones hadn't gotten any phone calls about her; well, at least to my knowledge.

"Oh, right right. How's she doing these days?" he asked. I sighed and pushed my lips together in a straight line before answering, raising my eyebrows at the gigantic lie.

"She's um fine, fine. Yeah she's fine." _"Karla! Stop running around the house and put your coat on." _I stifled a laugh at his feeble attempts to keep control of the two smaller girls. "Is this a bad time?"

"Um, yes, actually it is. I'm sorry, I mean if you wanted to call back-"he began to explain, sounding exasperated as the continued to scold the small children on the other end of the phone.

"Oh, it'll only take a minute." I said quickly, standing up from the chair carefully and walking towards the window; gazing though ta cobweb that formed on the panels, Erica would die if she saw how unkempt her apartment was, I'm surprised she hasn't called her mother to come clean it. I guess it doesn't really matter when you've got fifteen years in a place dirtier than dirt.

"Okay," he sighed, "What is it that you need?" he asked. I couldn't tell him the truth, and there really was no other way to explain my situation him, other than lying…

"Well, I have this friend- and-and he was sentenced to fifteen years in a maximum security prison for something that was done in self defense." I began to explain, he acknowledged, me with a soft grunt; I continued. "Is there no possible way to get him out? I mean- if this were to go to court what is the best argument that could be made for this case?" I didn't hear a reply for a few moments, my heart raced. He obviously wasn't stupid, I can't begin to explain how many times people use the whole 'I have this friend…' when they want something.

"Mmm." He hummed over the phone, he sounded deep in thought. "Is there anyone else who will be able to testify against the prison's actions in court? A- A witness, perhaps?" I rolled my eyes, trying to keep the sigh from rolling off my tongue; it's always about a witness.

"No, no. There were no witnesses." I explain solemnly, closing my eyes slowly before reopening them.

"Well then," he sighed, "Your friend is between a rock and hard place; he's guilty until proven innocent. And without a witness, the court probably won't even bother hearing the case." I tried to keep any harsh words from leaving my mouth as I sighed, nodding slowly.

"Oh, well. Thanks for your help, Charles. My friend will be happy to know that I – I at least tried to help him."

"It's not a problem," he reassured me. "I'm glad to have helped, but, if you do manage to get this case approved by the court; I'd be more than happy to represent him." I nodded, rising my eyebrows. If he really knew who my 'friend' was, he would jump at the opportunity. "I don't think I got your name."

"Emily." I answered quickly.

"Ah, well, Emily. Give Erica my love, will ya? Have a good day now." With that he hung up the phone. I looked down at the tiled floor, eyes closing slowly as I continued to hold the phone to my ear, letting the dial tone go on and on. I can't believe I've failed my best friend.

**End Pov**

I sighed as we all sat on the bleachers, for the past few days now this had been our normal spot to meet at, kind of like our own little clique. I had to admit, three weeks into this thing, and it was turning out better than I had expected it to be, I mean, being in prison is never good, especially one like this. I had found a group of people that I could trust; well I found two people I could trust; Westmorland and Michael. Abruzzi and Sucre were a whole different story, Abruzzi…I diffidently didn't trust, even though he did practically save my life a few times, and Sucre, well…Sucre didn't talk too much, but I guess if Michael trusted him enough to willingly let him in on this escape, then I could trust him too. The swelling in my eye was completely gone, and I could actually open it; it was still the sickening pale purple color though, Dr. Tancredi said it would be like that for the next couple of weeks, but, my ribs were healing quite nicely. I could sit down and stand up without it hurting. I rested my elbow on my knee as I sat behind Michael, positioned on the left side of Sucre; Abruzzi stood off to the side.

"Think of this place like a map of the US." Michael put it in perspective, my eyes adverted to the blades of grass the stuck up though the small spaces between the ground and the bottom of the bleachers. "Our cell over there, that's New York." He began to explain; I wanted to roll my eyes, his cryptic languages and secret codes were a little much for me to comprehend…but on the other hand, he gave it to us in a way that only we could understand. "Infirmary, our exit, that's California." I squinted my eyes as I sat up straighter now, trying to remember things I had learn in my US history classes so many, many years ago. It was quite hard for me to forget that class; I never did raise my hand, the teacher, Mr. Vincent, was fat but intimidating; he wore the same tie every day, and had sweat stains under his arm pits…it disgusted me. "The pipes beneath our feet that connect the two…"

This was a history lesson; my eyes scanned the locations that Michael had pointed out; trying to visualize each state being in their place. Abruzzi and Sucre were silent, either they didn't know the answer or they were like me in Mr. Vincent's class; too afraid to voice it. _New York and California…what road connects the two…_

"Route 66." I suddenly said, not knowing if it was correct or not. Sucre raised his head from his position from the ground and looked at me, Abruzzi doing the same as he ran a hand over his chin slowly. I felt like I did several years ago, this is why I never raised my hand, I was so afraid of giving the wrong answer.

"Route 66," Michael turned around, smiling at me as he placed his hand on my knee, giving it a congratulatory squeeze. I tried to keep the smile off my face, and my heart from breaking from my chest, yes, very cliché to say; but it touch made me feel like I was in high school all over again. "Our ticket out of here."

"I assume we're doing this at night." Abruzzi questioned, his eyes watching as Michael's hand feel from my knee. Abruzzi had noticed it too, the way Michael was overprotective of me during PI work; I hadn't been able to do more than the inventory checks since my injuries were so severe, he probably didn't think I was pulling my weight around here enough to be privileged with such an opportunity as so escape.

"That's right." Michael answered.

"We're locked up, Fish." Abruzzi continued, "and your boy is locked up in solitary." All of our eyes adverted to Lincoln; he stood alone in a separated yard, hands in his pockets as he watched the gathering from the other side of the fence. Fortunately, during the PI work I was able to get a one on one with Lincoln…and some of the answers I got were more than what I could have hoped for. Turns out, he was being framed, or so he says. As much as I stood by my original notion of him being innocent, the whole conspiracy theory thing about the Vice President setting him up was a little far fetched. I mean seriously, what motive could be behind that. But, I didn't deny his claim; and it all went into the small note book, and would eventually become part of my book that I planned on writing after escaping, excuse me, let me put it in lighter terms, after getting out of this place. "How are we just gonna fly out our cages, and right into your cell, right into New York City?" Abruzzi's voice was condescending and stiff, as if to imply that this plan would never work, that we were getting our hopes up from nothing.

"You're not." Michael answered, unemotional. I couldn't understand how someone under so much pressure was so calm and collected. I mean his brother was about to be the fifth person to be executed ever in the state of Illinois, and it was up to him to get him out before that could happen, and I thought writing a convincing paper was stressful. "You're gonna meet me halfway." Michael turned around and looked past me, feeling the need to see what he was looking at, Sucre and I turned around; starring at the tall building the loomed behind us, two guards stood at its entrance. "St. Louis." Michael finished.

"Route 66 runs directly beneath that building. It's the only building sitting on top of those tunnels." I studied the building a little more, it wasn't holding cells, or an extension of SHU. "All we gotta do is get in there on PI and dig our selves an on ramp." I stepped down from the bleachers as I listened to him explain the escape. I had been skeptical when he first announced that I was now part of the team. I didn't quite understand how he knew the layout of the prison well enough to get five inmates out without getting caught; it wasn't until four days ago, on PI that I had learned how he was going to make this happen…

"_Hey kid," Abruzzi's voice caught my attention as I leaned up against the wall of the storage shed, the clipboard held in my hands as I starred down at the page; this had been my duty, being the lest threatening of all the inmates here, it sill felt quite strange being referred to as an inmate; anyway, I had been giving the sacred job of keeping track of all the tools that went in and out of the shed. I looked up from the checkmark I had just made and starred at Abruzzi with questioning eyes; her jerked his head towards the open door of the shed, signaling me to join the rest of them inside. I took a quick glance back at the CO, I held up the clipboard, silently telling him that I was going to go do inventory inside to see what PI needed more of. He readjusted his belt and nodded in approval. I scampered inside quickly as Abruzzi shut the iron door behind us; I felt anxious as I looked at the men surrounding me; both Sucre and Lincoln stood off to the side, hands cross over their chests, Abruzzi walked around to the other side of me and stood motionless, hands in his pockets, and then there was Michael, he stood with his back towards me. _

"_Do you remember when you asked me how I planned on getting us out of here?" he asked, turning to now face me; his shirt was unbuttoned, and the usual gray long sleeved shirt that he wore under the standard issue prison button up was laying on the wooden table behind him. I could see the various outlines of the intricate tattoos as the poked their demon eyes and angel wings through the open flaps of his shirt. I looked from his face, and then back to his chest quickly. I tried not to stare too long, not wanting to make my physical attraction obvious. He continued to unbutton the light blue shirt that so very well matched his eyes, my breath hitched in my throat. I was confused what did undressing have to do with getting out of this place. _

"_What are you doing?" I asked, he shimmed out of the blue work shirt and I half expected him to begin on his pants next…not that I wanted him to or anything. I studied the lines and drawings that covered his chest, arms and extended onto his back, I couldn't even begin to think about the pain that went into all of that, or how many hours he must have spent in the tattoo parlor to have this done…or the outrageous cost. Michael continued to stare at me, a smirk appearing on his lips. "Am I supposed to be seeing something?" I asked, glancing around at the rest of the men. They seemed to glance at each other almost contemplating on whether or not they should tell me. I watched as Lincoln walked forward, pushing me gently forward, his gruff voice rang though the silent shed. _

"_Look closer." He said, and I did. I squinted my eyes as I moved closer to Michael, every fiber in my being wanted to reach out and touch the Monet like patterns that were embedded in his skin, but I still failed to see what I was supposed to. I looked up at him with a confused and lost expression, not knowing what I was supposed to have seen. He glanced down at me, his bare chest rising and falling calmly. _

"_The blue prints." He informed me, I strained my eyes to see more clearly; searching for any sign of these blue prints that he had just told me about, but again, I failed to see them. I had to see them though, I mean, apparently they were there if everyone else saw them. I moved closer again, the tip of my nose almost touching his chest as I looked again, and to my surprise I did see something within the design…_

"Shortly after we hit the infirmary, we'll be on the outside of these walls." He continued on, turning his attention to the three of us now.

"What's in there?" Sucre asked, glancing back at Michael momentarily. I looked to him as well, it was still hard to believe that he had the entire plan tattooed onto his body; I can tell you one thing for sure, Lincoln better be grateful for this once he's out, I sure as hell know I will be.

"It's an old storage room," he continued to explain, "I figure John here can pull all the strings he needs." He glanced in Abruzzi's direction.

"It's not that easy, Fish. That's a restricted area." Abruzzi's eyes adverted towards the said area, several guards walked in and out of the building. "I got to be able to justify it to the bulls, you know." I knew exactly what that place was…

"There's gotta be some actual work to be done in there for me to get in there. You follow?" Abruzzi asked. Michael's patience was beginning to wear thin as he answered with malice.

"Then you better figure it out. Cause' if we don't get in that room, we're not getting out of here." Michael explained, I let a sigh escape my lips as looked down at the ground. Why did I even agree to something to stupid, I should have listened to my mother; just do that time and get out, it was that simple.

"I'm feelin' kinda' left out." I shivered in disgust as T-Bag's voice suddenly filled the somewhat quiet place that the three of us occupied. My eyes grew wide as I continued to stare at the green grass, almost like I was watching it grow inch by inch. This was the first time in four weeks that Theodore Bagwell had been this close to me, and I hated the feeling. My stomach did several flips and turns as he continued to walk towards us. His normally disheveled brown hair was hidden under a dark blue baseball cap, I noticed as I glanced up; being careful to keep my eyes trained towards the ground. At this very moment, I wanted to be anywhere but here, and I thought about slipping away.

"New York, California, St. Louis; What are we discussing?" I looked up once more, his eyes catching mine. His lips twisted into a half smile, and he threw a wink my way as he bit his bottom lip. The feeling in the pit of my stomach grew to an abnormally large size, and I felt like I was going to throw up any minute, without another glance I turned, my feet carrying me away from the man who had almost succeeded in killing me. Not more than a second later, the other inmates in the yard began to follow; yard time was over. I crossed my arms over my chest, my eyes cast down towards the ground as I trudged along, being careful not to step on anyone's toes as I continued on my way inside. Suddenly a hand gripped the underside of my arm, with lightening reflexes I pulled away, fearing coursing though my veins as I turned. I closed my eyes and calmed slightly as I noticed Abruzzi standing there, Sucre and Michael walking with the rest of the group behind him.

"I won't take that piece of crap along. I won't do it." He said with a reassuring voice. It didn't take me long to realize that T-Bag wanted a role in the escape, I had to agree with Abruzzi…if T-Bag was coming along, then that means I wasn't. I wouldn't take part in letting a pedophile back on the streets, a mob boss, maybe, but a pedophile…no. I nodded in quite thanks as Abruzzi turned me around, beckoning me to fall in with the rest of the group, did slowly, waiting for Michael and Sucre to catch up with the two of us.

"Are you alright?" Michael asked as he approached me, his hands stuck within his pockets. I nodded slowly, but then quickly shook my head; letting Michael know that I wasn't okay.

"No, no." I answered, shaking my head and watching as Theodore and the rest of his crew brought up the rear of the giant mob of inmates reentering Gen-pop. "If he's coming…I'm not." I said, looking down at the ground.

"You don't have to worry about that." Michael reassured me, grasping my elbow gently and turning me around so that we were walking side by side; Abruzzi walked on the other side of me while Sucre took a spot next to Michael. "He'll be out of the picture soon enough."

**Additional A/N: I see this kind of like a filler :/ Hope you guys don't mind! I'm trying to get a bunch of chapters out this week and over break so I can start posting the sequel hopefully by Christmas :) Thanks. **


	22. The Informant

**A/N: I really appreciate all the reviews/alerts/favorites. I'm aiming to be done with this one by Christmas time, hopefully. **

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does not belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

**Ms. Jones' Pov**

The sound of soft violins played in the wind as I stood outside of the restaurant, it was a bit too fancy for my usual taste, but this was an unusual circumstance. I tapped my foot on the grounds slightly, watching as several young couples walked past me; their hands intertwined in the simplest gesture of their love, the smiles on their faces illuminating each others eyes. The echo of my heels hitting the pavement was the only sound once the couples had disappeared into their cars, a few of them entering the very place I was standing out by. No, I wasn't one of those people that liked to people watch; it really wasn't my thing, and I always found the unusual hobby to be a bit intrusive and creepy. I was waiting for someone. I glanced down at my watch, wondering what was taking him so very long, usually he wasn't late. If you're thinking that I don't feel the least amount of guilt…you're wrong. My daughter meant the world to me, she still means the world to me; not matter what she does…or what she has become. I've cried myself to sleep every night since our first visitation; seeing the CO bring a young, beautiful twenty-four year old woman to me, those awful metal bracelets containing her like an animal…I could have lost it right there. But was I in the wrong? Was it wrong to tell her what no one else would? She has to do whatever she can to stay alive in that place. She may think I'm punishing her for her actions, but, I'm not; I'm saving her. She wouldn't understand if I explained the situation to her, she was too overcome by fear and anxiety; but her friend, Emily, sure wasn't. My nephew, Charles, called me last night to inform me of the phone call he had received earlier that day. I knew I should have never told that girl anything.

A limo pulled up, my cheeks already flustered from the cold wind hitting them, but, they grew in color as the man was ushered slowly from the back of the limo. He was an older gentleman, by society's standards, but to me…he was just the right age. His eyes smiled at me as he straightened out his dress coat before he strode in my direction; now he was smiling, he offered me his hand, which I gladly took.

"Ms. Jones, may I say you look lovely this evening." He announced, I swear he made me feel like I was fifteen all over again, I could feel my cheeks grow in color, if it were even possible. I smiled.

"I could say the same for you Governor Tancredi."

**End Pov**

"Thanks, Dr. Tancredi." I nodded; smiling slightly as the red haired woman took the latex gloves off, tossing them with expert ease into the trash can by her desk. She looked at me and smiled in appreciation. I had found myself becoming closer to this woman; she was one of the few people here that believed I was being held against my will, she even went as far as to try and talk to her father about getting me out of here; she said he could pull a few strings. I convinced her not to bother with such things, I had a feeling if those strings were pulled there would be more than a few angry puppets, Bellick and Pope; not to mention any names. The door opened slowly, I was hoping one of the nicer, younger COs would be there to escort me back to Gen-Pop; the trip didn't seem as long when they were the ones taking me, but, to my dismay, Brad Bellick stood in the door way. A grim look covered his face as he took the hand cuffs from his back pocket; slowly walking towards me. I didn't hesitate like I usually did, since the riot he had been a little distraught over something, I could understand what though. In turn, he had been more volatile towards the inmates, well, more than he usually was at least. A few moments later we were walking down the empty hallway.

"Hey, I –uh- I think we got off on the wrong foot, Boswell." He said, his head turning to gaze at me. I knitted my brows together; he was the very man that informed me not to trust anyone, least of all him. I locked my bottom lip slowly, not answering his statement. Yes, we had gotten off on the wrong foot, but it seemed to be that he rubbed everyone the wrong way; not matter who they were. I decided to give in a small nod, signaling that I was paying attention. "But uh, I just, I wanna ask you a few questions." I felt like rolling my eyes at his plea. I kept silent as we neared the end of the hallway, Gen-pop already coming into a view…and I can say, that this is the one and only time I will be happy to see this place. The ominous silence that filled the hall sent shivers up my spine as his head turned towards me again. "Who killed Bob?"

My head snapped in his direction as he said these words. Bob was dead? I was sure that the CO was alright, I mean, since Michael was so deliberate with his instruction not to kill him. Then again, after Michael had picked me up I couldn't remember anything, not what was said, not who I saw…it was like I was asleep with my eyes open. I shook my head. "What are you-"I was silenced as Bellick's fists gripped the collar of my shirt, pushing up against the white face of the wall forcefully. I starred wide eyed into his; in my few weeks of being here, I'd never seen him so vulnerable in my life.

"Don't play those games with me," he hissed, spit spraying onto my face, "I know he died right in front of you and Westmorland's cell." He spat again, his face red with anger. I found it hard to breathe as he held me tighter, his lips pushed in a straight line as he awaited my answer. I truly didn't know what he was talking about; to my prior knowledge Bob was at home recovering, at least that's what Michael told me. So that was why he acted so jittery when he was telling me this, he acted as if it was no big deal and bushed it off like it was nothing; he lied to me.

"I didn't see anything." I struggled to explain, I could feel my face grow hot with fear as his grip tightened, "I swear, I was out cold by the time the riot was over. I don't know what happened. Last time I saw Bob was when he was escorting me to SHU." With the last line Bellick retreated his hands quickly, his chest rising and falling with anger. I coughed a few times, attempting to catch my breath. I hadn't meant for it to come out as one long lie, and I guess you can't really say I was 'lying' I didn't see Bob die…but I think I had a pretty good idea about who did it. There was no way I could be a rat, or in T-Bag's words, an even bigger rat. No only would he kill me…but he'd probably pull the plug on the whole escape.

I walked behind Michael and the rest of the group, struggling to carry the one pack of towels that I had; I had a right to feel inferior to the rest of them each carried two packs, and I swear they weight at least ten pounds each. Abruzzi glanced at me over his shoulder and motioned for to hurry it up. I dropped the pack of towels on the wet ground and seethed as I picked them up, glaring at the back of his head and whispering obesities under my breath, directed towards the tall man. I struggled with the pack as I finally entered the storage room, the rest of them looking amused as I heaved the heavily wrapped package into the room. None of them had broken a sweat, I on the other hand was sweating like a pig in July; it was quite embarrassing. Lincoln strode towards me, an un-amused look on his face as he heaved the package onto the shelves that housed the rest of them. It was no secret that he was on edge about me joining their escape, he had bluntly told me the first time I worked PI that he didn't like the idea of Michael trying to help more than he should, and couldn't blame him for looking at it this way. Michael had enough to worry about, he didn't need so broad messing it all up just because she went and got her self stuck in this mess.

I assumed we were at 'St. Louis' when the rest took positions on either side of the door that lay in front of us. I took my position beside Sucre, and a strange feeling washed over me. Something wasn't right, I could just feel it in my bones, I knitted my brows together and began to pick at the cuticles of my finger nails as I watched Michael's hand reach towards the door; everything moved so slowly. My eyes strained to see the words that were written on the door: 'No inmates beyond this point', if this was a storage room…then why weren't inmates allowed here? It didn't make any sense. His hand gripped the door knob turning it slowly; I could hear the sound of chattering voices. My eyes widened in fear and my stomach did flips as I realized what this was, this wasn't a storage room…

"Michael," I hissed, rushing forward to grip at his arm to stop him from finishing what he had started, but it was too late. The door swung open, my heart leapt within my chest as I took in the sight, stopping in my tracks. A CO stood at the door, a gun pointed in our direction. This was only the second time I had had a gun pointed at me; and the feeling wasn't any more reassuring than it was the first time.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" the CO ordered, his weapon never lowering as he stepped towards us; several more CO's that were in the room stood up from their places at the back of the room. I raised my hands quickly, following Michael's example as he tried to reason with the irate cop.

"Clean up detail. We thought this was storage." He said calmly, referring the rest of us who stood behind him, by this point all five us had our hands raised in fear, signaling that we surrendered.

"Does this look like storage to you, you idiot?" he scolded Michael, "It's a restricted area. This is a CO break room. Now back it up." He ordered. I restrained myself from shaking my head. I knew it, I just knew it. I thought something was strange the day Michael had told us about this place, why would a storage room have several guards stationed on the outside at all times, it should have occurred to him, hell, it should have occurred to all of us. None of us moved each of us looking to another with the same fear ridden expression; the loud echo of the gun cocking made me jump clear out of my skin, hands shaking violently. "Back it up, now!" I didn't hesitate as the other CO's pointed their guns in my direction; in fact, I was one of the first ones out of the place. There was absolutely no way we were getting out of here now…

"It's a break room." I said loudly, praying that my tears somehow found their way back into my eyes as I placed my hands atop my head, looking upwards. I was so immersed in my own little world of complaining that not even the metal can that Sucre kicked angrily as he walked into the other storage shed behind be could bring me from my thoughts.

"They must have changed it since the retrofit." Michael examined, I turned towards him quickly, running my hands down my face slowly as I tried to wish my anger away; but I had a right to be angry, didn't I? Not only had he gotten my hopes up of getting out of here, he'd also lied to me. I began to pace back and forth, trying to keep the tears a bay and my breathing normal.

"The bulls are camped out in there. They'll never leave." Sucre added angrily as he sat down on a small wooden bench. I could feel the tension rising in the room, like Mercury in a thermometer on a hot day. Abruzzi took a menacing step towards Michael; he didn't have to say anything for us to know that it was a threat.

"You got a back up plan?" Abruzzi ordered, coming up behind him. I walked slowly, beginning to rejoin the group; arms crossed my chest as I tried to comprehend what was going on. It seemed like everything that I wanted to go right…was just turning around on its self. Maybe it was a sign, maybe none of us were supposed to get out…maybe it was just me that wasn't due to be released.

"There isn't one." Michael reasoned, "It's the only room sitting on top of that pipe. It's the only way out, and we gotta get back in here."

"Michael, that's impossible." I sighed shaking my head as I placed a hand on my hip, closing my eyes momentarily. He turned and looked at with questioning eyes, almost like he didn't take me for the pessimistic type.

"Maybe not," Lincoln interrupted, I glanced in his direction; the window of the storage room was open, the walls on either side rotted by the rain that we had gotten earlier on in the week; another thing that was going into my book/article…the sanitation of the prison. "Check it out." The rest of us slowly followed his gaze, each of us staring in the direction of the break room. I sighed out angrily as I was the last one to reach the window; I had pulled the short straw, trying to see over Abruzzi's shoulder wasn't as easy as it looks. Well, I'm pretty sure it didn't even look easy. Standing up on the tips of my toes I stretched my neck to see what they were all gawking at, I leaned forward a little too much; my palms pressing against Abruzzi's back. He turned around slowly, glaring down at me with his blue eyes before he moved out of the way, scoffing as he let my small frame take his place. There he was, Charles Westmorland, my cellmate; carrying a tray out of the break room. I'm sure we were all thinking the same thing, how did he manage to make it into that place.

"I don't get it," Sucre wondered aloud, "How come they let him into the guard's room?" I noticed Abruzzi glance in my direction, almost like I had knowledge of something that he didn't, but, just as quickly as his gaze was upon me, it was gone.

"He's a trustee, the ones with the highest security clearance." Lincoln explained, his eyes never leaving the old man's frail frame as he continued to walk down the concrete path. The guards seemed to get along with him, the smile on his face and way the guards spoke to and respected him were the things giving it away.

"But why him?" Sucre pushed; I raised an eyebrow at his question. Even thought he asked a lot of them…none of them seemed to be pointless or stupid.

"He can be trusted." Lincoln explained.

"How does one become a trustee?" Michael asked, I glanced back in his direction. His eyes was fixated on the old man as a few guards joked with him as they returned him to the doors leading into Gen-Pop; I swear I could already see an idea brewing within those blue eyes of his.

"Just have a spotless record for the last thirty years." Lincoln scoffed, Sucre followed suite.

"Pretty much counts all of us out." I scoffed inwardly; three weeks ago I would have qualified as a 'trustee', I didn't even a tardy pass on my record, let alone a count of intended and premeditated homicide.

"Which means we've got to get him on board." I wasn't sure if I was the only person in the room who heard the underlying context of Michael's words. I could feel his eyes starring at the back of my head, and even though I didn't want to think about what they were planning to do go get Westmorland's help…I already had a hunch.

"Forget it. The guy's a boy scout." Lincoln replied turning to face me; I guess I wasn't the only one who heard the secret code within Michael's words. He crossed his arms over her chest as he looked down at me, he didn't need to say anything. I already knew what they wanted me to do.

"No." I said definitely, shaking my head as I began to back away from the group. They all turned in my direction, their eyes daring me to deny their request. "No," I repeated. "I-I won't make him apart of this. No, no, I no." I kept repeating. Michael slowly strode towards me, his hands reached out, resting on either of my elbows as he began to pull me gently towards him. In any other situation I would have gone willingly.

"Erica," he said, carefully and slowly, almost like I was a scared animal that he was trying to frighten; he talked to me like I was a child. "We need you to do this." I felt paralyzed by his stare as I listened to him coheres me into manipulating my friendship with Charles to gain him something in return. I was never one to turn my back on friends, and even though Westmorland and I probably didn't even see each other on the same level, I couldn't bring myself to agree to such a thing. "Erica, he's the only one that can get us in that room. That room is the only way out of here." He explained again. I shook my head, shoving his hands away.

"No, Michael, I-I won't do that to him." I challenged, blinking a few times. "I-I can't. He trusts me, Michael." I pleaded, tears threatening to spring from my eyes. Michael bit his bottom lip and nodded, understanding the level of emotional guilt I would be feeling if I were to do this to him. Placing a hand on my shoulder he gave it a reassuring squeeze, I nodded; happy to know that he understood why I couldn't do this. I half expected him to tell me to leave, to kick me out of the crew and leave me to the dogs…but he didn't. I stood there with my head inclined towards the floor, listening to the hushed voices. I didn't know if I should have joined in on the conversation, they were most likely thinking of another way to get Westmorland's trust; I didn't and wouldn't be apart of it.

"Hey kid," I looked up upon hearing my 'nickname', Abruzzi had called me this since day one, I automatically knew who it was before I even looked up. I wish I hadn't. Before I could even look Abruzzi in the eye I felt his fist collide with my face, knocking me clear off my feet. For a second, I didn't even know what happened as I attempted to pick myself up off the floor, my tongue ran over my bottom lip, the floor already gushing into my mouth.

"What the hell are you doing?" Michael seethed as Abruzzi stalked towards me just as I picked myself up off the floor. Michael's hands were already holding Abruzzi back as he continued on his silent rampage towards me. It was Lincoln that helped me up from the floor, his hands keep me up right as I wiped the blood from my bottom lip, and I could already feel it swelling. Abruzzi ripped out of Michael's grasp and rushed towards the two of us. A pained look crossed over Michael's features as Lincoln stopped Abruzzi in his tracks. I cowered against the wall; I really thought Abruzzi and I had put stuff behind us.

"John, calm down." Lincoln ordered, his fist gripping Abruzzi's blue work shirt as he shoved him away. He still struggled against Lincoln's attempts to push him away, it was like watching a bull trying to push a cow away…if that made any sense. "Calm down." He said again, this time rather loudly.

Abruzzi's eyes looked as if they were going to pop out of his head at any minute; he raised his hands up, finally giving in. He continued to stare at me, pointing a finger in my direction. Michael stood beside me, his hand softly gripped my arm, almost like he was ready the whisk me away at a moments notice.

"Listen kid, if you don't start pullin' your weight with this thing," Lincoln kept a hand outstretched in front of him, ready to push Abruzzi back if he tried anything else. "Then you're not comin'," he finished, glaring at Michael before he turned around, running his hands over his head, still trying to calm his self down.

"Come on." Michael beckoned, slowly leading me out of the storage room. I leaned up against the outside walls of the storage shed, trying to calm my heart, I felt terrible, finally realizing that what Abruzzi said was right. I should be allowed to go along with them unless I did things to help make it happen. I closed my eyes and sighed, one part of me wanted to help them, but the other part just wanted to tolerate the things they did so I could get out. I opened my eyes as I felt a pair of hands running up and down my arms slowly; opening them, I came face to face with Michael. "You don't have to do anything." He said quietly, I searched his eyes for a moment. A shiver ran up my spine as I realized how sincere he was being, how real it was. He wasn't just saying it to get a reaction or a response from me. Instead of agreeing with him I shook my head.

"No, Abruzzi's right." I licked my lips, wining as the saliva trickled into the open wound on my lip, stinging it. "If you're risking everything to get us out of here…then the least I can do is contribute." I answered. He gave a sympathetic yet understanding look as he drew his hands away from my arms; the small moment was ruined by Sucre's voice as he popped his head from the inside the room, looking at the two of us with a knowing smirk.

"Ay, _papi_, what's the plan?" Sucre flinched as a loud banging could be heard coming from the inside of the shed, Abruzzi was obviously still throwing his little hissy fit. "Abruzzi's about to tare the place apart," Michael looked from Sucre and glanced back at me, neither pleading with me to comply nor wanting me to give up. I took a deep breath and then sighed, nodding my head once.

"What do I need to do?"

I was confused when Michael had explained everything to me. He talked about this D.B Cooper guy like everyone should have known about him; and to my surprise, I seemed to be the only one that didn't. I failed to see how this involved Westmorland in anyway, shape, or form. But apparently, this D.B cooper…was infact Westmorland, and he had a stash of cash that Michael needed. It was too much for me to remember. I took one last breath, calming my nerves as I spotted Westmorland sitting in the same spot he did everyday; the small wooden picnic table. I walked over like I did everyday, very casual.

"Hi, Charles." I greeted him. He looked up at me, seeming surprised by my presence. The last few days, well weeks actually, I had been with Michael and his 'crew'. I felt bad leaving him all alone, and didn't look like Marilyn was back yet either. Westmorland slowly removed his glasses from his face, holding them in between his fingers.

"Well, if it isn't Miss. Boswell." He chuckled, "Thought you forgot all about me." I loved this man's personality, no matter the circumstance he was always happy, always so understanding.

"Aw, Charles, I could never do that." I replied just as kindly, "Marilyn hasn't come back yet?" I asked, noticing that his precious cat was no where to be found, that had me worried.

"Nope," he replied, sadness etched in his voice, "Still MIA." I bit my lip, struggling to find words to say.

"Um, you can get another one?" I asked I didn't realize how snotty it sounded until it left my mouth; he looked at me and shook his head, standing up from his spot. Dusting his pants off, he shook his head slowly.

"Don't want another one." He answered bluntly, shoving his hands in his pockets. He starred at me for a moment, almost as if he had noticed the swollen portion of my lip; but he didn't question it. "Besides, it's a moot point. She was grandfathered; once she's gone there's no more pets."

"Would be an issue if you were on the outside." I stated, using the very words Michael had trained me to saw minutes earlier. Westmorland stopped in his tracks and looked back at me, a small smile playing at his lips; he knew this wasn't me talking.

"Mr. Scofield put you up to this?" he asked. This man was stupid, that's one thing I noticed with these inmates. They weren't stupid people; they just did some really stupid things. I opened my mouth to answer his question, more likely it would come out as a rebuttal," He probably wants to know if I'm D.B Cooper too, huh?" This man had us all figured out, I nodded my head and let my eyes travel towards the ground in defeat. I wasn't a very good informant. I heard Westmorland chuckle quietly, his hand reaching out and gripping my arm carefully, he shook it slightly.

"You tell Mr. Scofield to solve this riddle: How could I have hijacked a plane in Portland on November twenty-fourth, when I was in Folsom finishing up a thirty day drunk and disorderly." I starred at the old man, confused. His riddles were just as bad as Michael's were, "I you and Scofield weren't hanging this whole escape on that money", I knitted my brows together, Michael's words echoing in my head. _1.5 million in cash. _"Cause' I'm not the one in possession of it." He gave my arm another shake before letting go, the drills ringing, signaling the end of yard; I continued to stand there, dumfounded. I looked up just in time to see Westmorland turn, facing in my direction once more.

"Thanks for the invite though."

**Additional A/N: Not sure how I feel about this chapter :/ Tell me if you guys think she's going in a Mary Sueish direction; we diffidently don't want that happening!**


	23. Fire!

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates this weekend. I had senior pictures to get done and my dad's wedding was this weekend (yay!). Yesterday morning I came down with a terrible cold/headache and I just stayed in bed all day. I'll be sooo happy when I get a laptop this Christmas! Thank you for all the reviews/suggestions!**

**Disclaimer: Prison Break does not belong to me. Anything that you recognize is property of their original owners; I am merely borrowing them for my own entertainment. **

I didn't wait for Michael or the others to catch up to me as we entered to mess hall; nothing was going according to 'plan'. Abruzzi was looking for a reason to throw me out of their little escape, and judging by the answer Charles had just given me…he now had a reason to. I ran a hand down my face lazily as I got in line with the rest of the inmates; it had become sort of a ritual now, get up, eat yard, PI, sleep; then repeat. If this escape didn't work, I'm sure I could continue this routine for a couple more years. I grimaced as the inmate behind the counter slopped a spoonful of food onto my plate, it looked the same as it did yesterday, made me wonder if it was leftovers. I didn't know how I was supposed to tell the rest of them that Westmorland didn't want any part of their little plan, it had been my job to convince him…and I'd failed.

"What did the old man say, kid?" The blood in my veins grew ice cold as the low voice appeared behind me, I was so immersed in my own worries that I hadn't even realized that Abruzzi had gotten behind me in line; gripping the lunch tray until my knuckles turned white I continued my way down the line, lips pushed in a straight line. It wasn't that I didn't want to answer him, no, no that's exactly right…I didn't want to tell Abruzzi that I had failed the one simple task they had given me; and it wasn't because I didn't want them thinking I was weak, or incapable of such things, I just didn't want Abruzzi finding out. I looked down at the food and ran my tongue over my lips, feeling that they swelling had since went down, all that remained was a darkening scab.

"He said no." I answered quietly; by body tensing as I awaited the verbal or physical abuse that I knew was bound to follow. I continued down the line, gripping my tray tighter and tighter as we sent, all was silent besides the chatter of the other inmates. Once I had reached the end of the line I glanced back in Abruzzi's direction; his eyes were wide with anger, his jaw working furiously as he looked for something to say. It frightened me, seeing Abruzzi so dumfounded, I could almost see the steam pooling from his ears as he watched me leave the line quickly.

"What do you mean he said no?" his voice rang again, this time he was following me. My feet pounded against the hard concrete floor of the building as I briskly walked towards the first half empty table that I saw; Michael and Sucre were the only two occupying it, that's probably how they planned it. I didn't turn or even acknowledge his presence, if I made it to the table I knew he wouldn't try anything, or at least I hoped he wouldn't. Michael looked up at me as I hastily dropped the tray onto the table, small specks of the floor landing on the already dirty table as the force projected the slop from the tray. I turned around and looked up at Abruzzi, his frame towering over mine.

"He said no, that's-that's all he said." I stuttered, I turned attempting to sit down in the uncomfortable chair when I felt someone's hand grasp my arm, and it didn't take me long to figure out who it was. I closed my eyes as Abruzzi's grip tightened.

"Then you better find a way to make him say yes." He spat, shoving my arm out of his grasp before he turned to Michael; he sat there, his blue eyes staring down at the table with much regret, his hands were folded in front of him, his fingers twiddling. "Well, Fish, what do we do now? You're girlfriend over here couldn't do the simplest thing…you got another plan up your sleeve?" his words were harsh and laced with hatred and disgust as he gestured towards me with one hand while he balanced his lunch in the other. I knitted my brows together, that was the second time someone had referred to me as Michael's 'girlfriend', I didn't know weather it was a good thing or a bad thing; but being called someone's girlfriend is prison was never a good thing, that simple word usually translated into prison bitch…which I certainly was not.

"It's not her fault." Michael answered, I looked up from the plate of food that I was starring at and caught his gaze; he sounded like he was apologizing, like he knew what he had asked me to do would never work. "I should have known that Westmorland wouldn't agree to something like this. It's too risky."

"Do we even know if we can trust him?" Sucre asked as he shoved a spoonful of whatever special was on the menu into his mouth, chewing it quickly before he swallowed it. Michael sighed and looked at me, I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear nervously and looked back down at the food, suddenly, I didn't feel very hungry anymore.

"We can, trust me." Michael answered, rubbing his hands together. "Erica," I looked up upon hearing my name leave his lips, dropping the plastic utensil onto the tray, Abruzzi leaned with both hands on the table, looking behind him every so often; I wasn't sure what he was looking for. "Did he say anything else?" he finished. I wasn't sure if everyone else in the rest of the group knew about the other information that Michael had divulged to me before my sorry attempt at a persuasion. I looked at the three pairs of eyes that starred at me; I never did like being put on the spot light.

"He just said no." I shrugged, keeping the rest of the information to myself, "That's all he said." I looked at Michael, hoping that he was catching ton to what I was trying to tell him without actually having to say anything. He did tell me whether or not he had told the rest about the money, or the fact that he thought Westmorland was D.B Cooper. His lips twisted into a smirk, and then I knew.

"I'll talk to him." Michael answered, sitting up straight as he glanced in Abruzzi and Sucre's direction. Abruzzi pushed himself away from the table, taking his tray with him as he stood up erect, glancing at me before he looked back in Michael's direction.

"You better, Fish" he said in a warning tone; his legs carrying him backwards towards the other side of the room as he spoke, "The old man is the only one who can do this, if we don't have him.." Abruzzi trailed off glaring at each of us before he turned around, stalking towards his own table. We all knew what he meant; if Westmorland wasn't with us, then they're no way this plan would work. You see, Abruzzi suggested that we as in all of us, set the guard's room on fire in order for us to gain access during PI, that's where Westmorland comes into play, he's the only one that has access to that room. You see where I'm going with this? If he set that place on fire, then we were just one step closer to getting out of here. I was having doubts about this whole plan; I knew Michael wouldn't give up until it happened though. Just the thought of me being a part of something like this was a daunting feeling, but, I didn't really have a choice; I had to look at it as if it were a hostage situation, do as you're told or be killed…it was that easy.

Dr. Tancredi closed the door of the examination room, clipboard held in her hand as she waltzed across the marble floor, her shoes clicking against the white face of the floor, the sounds echoed though the small room. I left my legs swing back and forth as I sat atop the exam table, my eyes scanning the room. I jumped slightly as I heard the whooshing sound of the blinds closing on each of the windows, promptly, I lifted my head; watching as the figures outside of the glass windows disappeared, hidden behind the white shades. She smiled slightly as she walked towards the table, setting her clipboard down on the neatly organized desk closet to the door.

"How are you feeling, Erica?" she asked skeptically, almost as if she knew something that I didn't. I knitted my brows together and shook my head, letting her know that my health hadn't changed since the last time we met.

"Fine." I answered, the word leaving my life slower then it normally than it would have in any other situation. She instructed me to lay down flat on my back, I complied; still confused as to why she was acting to strange. I looked up at the ceiling, the rays from the sun bounced off the barred windows as they shone though the windows on the opposite side of the room. I took a deep breath as she gently laid a hand on my ribcage, applying pressure ever so slightly; I closed my eyes and let out a low breath.

"That hurt?" she asked, withdrawing her palm from the side of my body she looked at me, awaiting my answer. I nodded my head slowly, it did hurt; but certainly not as bad as it a few weeks ago. She reapplied pressure, her hand pressing down harder, but in the area just above the rib she had just examined, I flinched slightly. Her throat emitted a sound along the lines of 'uh-huh', clearing her throat she rested her hands on her hips for a moment before walking towards her desk, jotting down something on the clipboard. I didn't know if I should stay in my current position or sit up, I had my answer soon enough. She walked back towards me, motioning for me to stand up, I did as instructed. "Take off your shirt." I looked at her, confused. Of course…that's why she worked in a prison full of men; she must have wanted others to know. She must have seen the startled look on my face, she shook her head, "No, no." she reassured me, "I need to see if your ribs are healing correctly. Trust me, I won't try anything." She chuckled. I let a breath escape my lungs, and I chuckled as well; prison really does make you paranoid, doesn't it?

Standing up slowly, my feet found their place on the marble floor, plating them in that very spot, motionless. I winced slightly as I grasped the hem of my shirt, peeling the plain white t-shirt from my body; I shielded my breasts with the fabric as Dr. Tancredi pulled the gloves on with a snap, her eyes scanning the purple bruise that covered the left side of my body, she sucked in a breath. "Oh man," she breathed out; I couldn't see what all the fuss was about because she was blocking my view, but, if a doctor says something like that…then it probably isn't good. "What have they got you doing on PI?" she asked; there was an edge to her words, almost scolding me. She pressed against the ribcage again, this time I jumped. The pain traveled up my side, shooting though my entire body.

"Inventory." I breathed out, shutting my eyes as she continued to probe at the broken skin, "A lot of checking and double checking, stocking, that sort of stuff." I winced, biting my bottom lip to keep from crying out. I could feel the ribs grinding together as she pushed on them.

"That's all?" she asked, looking up at me with a hardened look. I'd never seen Dr. Tancredi this angry before, let alone the malice that stung her words. I nodded truthfully, that's all the ever had me do. "Why didn't someone check with me first? It doesn't take a doctor to know that a person with injures like yours shouldn't be doing that kind of labor." She scolded, I couldn't tell if her words were directed towards me or the prison staff in general, but whoever they were aimed at, I'm glad she didn't say it to their face. "That rib is healing wrong," she informed me as she walked over to one of the various cabinets that lined the walls of the room. She opened the tallest cream colored cabinet and produced from its dark depths a roll of gauze; it'd never seen anything like it, definitely wasn't like the ones my old Girl Scout leader kept in the trunk of her car whenever we went camping. I was startled, I had no clue what would happen if the rib didn't heal the right away, I'm sure it couldn't be a good outcome. "Luckily," she sighed placing a strip at the base of my ribcage before she began to bandage it up, like I was being mummified, "I caught it early in the healing stages to correct it," she explained, reaching into her coat pocket she produced a roll of gauze tape; she applied it slowly, careful not to leave any portion neglected. "But, I don't want you lifting, digging, racking, any of that stuff when you're on PI, understand?" I nodded, wincing. She turned around promptly, letting me redress my white shirt. I smoothed it out slowly, careful not to hit the rib that felt to be rubbing against the inside of my skin. "Stick to inventory." She ordered a stern look on her face. I nodded, agreeing to her orders, even though I knew that wasn't an option for me. If Abruzzi saw that I wasn't doing anything to help aid them in their plan…there was no way I was going to have a chance.

It was the tail end of our last yard break when the CO, Patterson, escorted me back though Gen Pop; I spotted Michael and Sucre by the fence almost instantly. I shielded my eyes from the unusual wind as it blew across the yard, keeping my eyes strained towards the grass, my feet stepping on in front of the other, slowly. A lot was on my mind; this whole plan, obviously Michael had all this figured out even before he got himself landed here, he wanted to be here…the rest of us, well, most of us were here on accident; namely me. I had never done anything wrong until I walked into this place, but, I guess you reap what you sew right.

"Well, well, well." I shivered at the voice that appeared behind me, stopping my tracks. I didn't need to turn around to know who it was; it was the one person who I wanted to stay away from. I had done a pretty good job of it over the last couple of weeks, avoiding his gaze, ignoring his voice…pretending that he didn't even exist. But he did, he very much did. I regretted turning around, I expected it to just be him; like it had been when he'd gotten a hold of me. "I see you tryin' to runway from me, Sweetpea." He smiled crookedly, the boy to his side looked up at me with pleading eyes; I didn't know his name, all I knew is that he was a new one here…and T-Bag had made it his first priority to corrupt him. "That's not very nice." He cooed, stalking towards me, a wicked smile crossing his features. He dismissed the rest of the inmates that had gathered around him with a flick of his wrist, they dispersed, all walking in different directions. T-Bag continued to walk towards me, his steps slow and full of hop as he swayed his hips to the side, the boy gripping the cotton lining of his pocket tightly. Each time he advanced, I retreated; advance, retreat, advance, retreat...my back hit something.

I closed my eyes in despair as I felt the fragments of brick against my back, rubbing it slightly. My eyes desperately searched the yard, their direction immediately adverting toward Michael and Sucre, my heart sank as I realized that they had no clue what was going on. And the guards, yeah, the guards were too busy talking amongst themselves to know what was going on; they were completely oblivious. "You got no where ta' run, Sweetpea." He chuckled, smiling as he and the younger man stopped in front of me, you could barely even put a sheet of paper in-between the who of us. My chest rose and fell heavily, my skin hot, I looked towards the ground; hearting beating like it's never beat before. His lips twisted into a nasty smile, his hair blew in the wind as another gust whipped through the yard.

"Tell me if I'm wrong, darlin'," he drawled, messaging the ugly goatee that grew on his chin, the kid beside him gripped the lining again, his knuckles turning white. I was actually relived that I didn't follow his instructions the first two time she tried to force 'his pocket' trick on me. "But, Cherry, here," he motioned towards the boy; he didn't look more than seventeen years old. "Said that he saw you chattin' up Offica' Bellick." He accused, I forced myself to swallow the brick sized lump in my throat. I hadn't remembered anyone else being in the hallway the day Bellick accused me of knowing Bob's killer; although I knew who it was. I stayed silent, watching as the kid looking down at the ground, ashamed.

"And?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. He must have heard the edge that occupanied that one simple word, he swatted 'Cherry's hand away roughly and stepped forward; not nothing could fit between us. My breathing increased as his chest pressed up against mine, his eyes glaring daggers as my voice broke. "And-I-I didn't say anything." I added quickly, I could see that playing tough in this place wasn't going to get me anywhere but killed.

"Yeah, that's what I thought." He spat, inching away from me slowly. My body continued to shake as I looked away from him, Abruzzi didn't even frighten me as much as T-Bag did; there was nothing scarier than a smart psychopath…if that's even possible. "Remember, Sweetpea," he sang, I continued to look away from him; waiting for either Sucre or Michael to realize what was going on, but they didn't. "Don't show no fear, us Cons, can smell it a mile away. And baby doll, you reek of it." He chuckled lowly, I squeezed my eyes shut. Remembering everything he'd put me thought since the first day I got here; he was such a manipulative bastard. "Hey, hey. Didn't ya mamma' eva' teach you to look when spoken to, Sweetpea." He drawled I flinched as I felt his fingers on the underside of my chin; not being able to hide the fear in my eyes I opened them, letting the few silent tears that had formed at the creases of y eyes fall down my cheeks. I was surprised at how gentle his touch was as he forced my chin in his direction, I could see the evil glint in his brown eyes as he nit his bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth slowly.

"That au' girl, Sweetpea, that au' girl." I felt sick to my stomach as I watched his eyes wander before the palm of his hand lightly patted the side of my face. I watched with growing fear as she walked away, pulling the kid behind him. My legs gave out from the suspense, my heart pounding against my chest as I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the dewy grass; I had to turn him in. So what if he blew the whistle on this whole thing, sure, I'd be a target no doubt, but, it made me feel better knowing that someone like him wasn't free and roaming the streets.

I had thought a lot about it over the last few days; turn him, or don't turn him in. The outcome of both would be somewhere along the lines of catastrophic. The rest of them knew something was up, especially Michael. He'd confronted me several times about it, probing for answers; from early childhood I wasn't one to give up motives that easily, especially not something that I knew one would be against…and this was one of those times. He's ask if I was okay, I'd say I was fine, he'd ask what was on my mind, I'd say nothing; it was just that easy. The uneasy part came whenever I walked to me cell, it didn't matter who was around or who wasn't; Michael could be standing right next to me and T-Bag would just stand there, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for me to say something, anything. Abruzzi knew something was up though, he didn't actually say anything to let me know that he knew, but I saw the looks he gave T-Bag; they border lined 'Watch it' and 'Go for it'. I guess he was Pro kill Erica and Pro keep her alive. I seized up the group as I walked though the Gen-Pop; something was going on, it didn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. My hair was still wet from the show that I had just taken, it didn't matter to me that they put in a private room to shower, and the only thing that irked me was that that room only got cold water…but I guess that's better than no shower at all.

"That's messed up man." I could hear a few voices moan, they seemed genuinely disgusted; which was hard to come by in this place. The fear didn't set in until I realized that they were all crowded around Westmorland and I's cell. I quickened my pace to a small jog, fearing for the worst. There was only one possibility that could be bad enough to attract a crowed that large. I just hoped I was wrong; I don't think I could handle seeing another dead body, let alone the dead body of someone that I trusted and had before quite fond of.

"Jeez, does he even know?" another inmate asked, rubbing the back of his head, a sickening look crossed his features. I knew only then that it couldn't be Westmorland's mangled body, and then it struck me. Theres was only one other being that it could be, if it was a being at all. Michael had so graciously returned Marilyn to Westmorland several days ago, I wasn't sure if he did it as a bribe to gain his trust, or if he genuinely cared about people that much to find her and return her to him; either way, it lit a flame within my chest. I had noticed that about Scofield; he wasn't selfless. I gently squeezed though the other inmates as they moved out of my way, my breath hitching my throat. My hand clasped over my mouth, keeping the strangled cry that wanted to emit from my throat from coming out. Marilyn lay on the bottom bunk, stiff as stone; no purr emitted from her throat, no meow of affection arose, and her fur didn't ripple with any breaths like it normally did. I looked up only to see Westmorland approaching the inside of the cell, his eyes soaking up the same sight which I had just discovered.

"Charles," I whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder, my vision blurred by the oncoming tears as I watched him bend down. His face contorted in anguish and sadness as he reached forward, bottom lip trembling as he scoffed Marilyn into his arms, cradling her close to his chest. I backed up against the wall, unable to comprehend what I was seeing; this was worse than seeing a dead body in my opinion, this was someone's pet, someone's family. _Mr. Rockwell has two daughters_. My lip trembled as I slid down the wall; was this the pain that his children went though looked like when they found out that their father was killed? Surely they knew what he had done to so many people in the past…but that didn't stop them from caring. I peered out of the cell door just as Westmorland turned his head; I suspected that we were glaring at the same person as they stalked past the cell. T-Bag itched his chin quickly as he shot a glance in my direction. That sealed the deal…I was telling.

"Hey," Michael greeted me, as I grabbed the clipboard from the inside of the storage room; producing a pen from the metal clip at the top. I looked at him and smiled slightly, tucking loose strands of hair behind my ear; he smiled back. A strange flutter emitted in my stomach, it wasn't one of ear, or confusion…it was that feeling you get when someone special comes around you, a certain person that you admire to an extent. "You seem like something is on your mind." He stated, picking up at bag of cement and loading it into the wheelbarrow by the door. I looked at the item number on the face of the sac and jotted it down in one of the squares on the white sheet of paper; checking off that this bag was indeed in the inventory. Looking up at him I raised my eyebrows in that way that translated into 'oh really', he hauled another bag into the wheelbarrow; I checked the number jotting it down.

"Nope." I answered, shaking my head; he wasn't stupid, at least not stupid enough to fall for such a lie as this one. He sighed and rested a hand on his hip as he stood up straight, watching as Sucre left the storage room, joining the rest of PI outside.

"Look," he started; I pretended to be writing notes on the paper, anything to make it look like I was doing something. "I'm sorry about what happened to Westmorland." I nodded and bit my bottom lip before looking up at him.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should tell him that. I mean-" I didn't realize how harsh it sounded until it left my mouth, regretting the rebuttal I quickly apologized, gently grasping Michael's arm. "Look, I'm sorry-I shouldn't have said that. It's just-I-"

"What?" Michael pressed, concern etched in his features. I was the last person who should be going around accusing people of things, but the signs were all there, it was like T-Bag wanted me to find out what he did to Charles's cat. I took a deep breath before opening my mouth.

"I think I know-"

"Michael." Lincoln's voice rang though the storage shed, his eyes hard, and features stone cold as he stood at the door of the shed, beckoning Michael to follow him back outside. Michael turned his attention back to me and grasped my hand quickly letting go just as fast, apologizing for the interruption. I nodded and continued with my earlier work of inventory as he left. It wasn't more than a second later that an alarm sounded, the shrill ringing echoed off the walls; dropping the clipboard onto the floor I rushed as quickly as I could though the open door way, I slowed my pace as I saw the black smoke billowing from the building just feet away. I couldn't believe it, I thought for a split second that maybe it was a different building that had caught ablaze. Westmorland had come though.

I tugged on the collar of my shirt, beads of sweat produced on my forehead as the CO led me towards the Warden's office. No, it wasn't the Warden I was meeting, and No, it wasn't hot in here. On a whim, I had went to Patterson and asked to see Officer Bellick, because and I quote 'knew who killed Bob', T-Bag wasn't the only one giving me odd stares as Patterson led me from my cell, I was surprised that he didn't cuff me before leaving. Michael was there as well, but, his look was more of concern than anger; whether or not he was afraid of me squealing of frightened for my well-being I couldn't tell. I took a deep breath, eyes wide with fear as the door to the office opened; the Warden brushed past me, not even giving me so much as one glance. I could tell he was disappointed, still. Patterson shut the door as Bellick stood up from the chair in front of the desk; his hands positioned on his belt as he adjusted it. My mouth suddenly felt dry, I seemed to forget all vocabulary as he looked at me, his stare annoyed and waiting. There was several ways this could end; I tried to focus on the somewhat good one, you know the outcome where they let me out of this place for turning in a cop killer. I couldn't help but feel overly guilty; knowing Michael and his plan would be foiled. There was a conflict of morals swirling around my head. How would I ever be able to live with the guilt of hurting someone that was trying to help me…some one that I think I was beginning to care about and understand…

"What is it, Boswell? I'm already here overtime." His gruff voice rang, sounding more than annoyed.

"I know who killed Bob." His eyes widened in shock, the look with laced with the underlying look of confusion, lips pushing in a straight line…

**A/N: To be honest; I don't like this chapter. But, it was one of those chapters that had to be done in order to keep the pace of the story. Oh, and we all know T-Bag didn't kill Marilyn, but, Erika seems to think that he did. Who thinks she's gonna squeal? **


	24. Dig it

**A/N: I apologize for the lack of updates this week. I am just getting over a Sinus Infection which kept me out of school for a few days; which means I had a ton of makeup work to get done before I could continue with this! Thanks for being patient, and for all the reviews/alerts/subscriptions. **

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners. **

**Recap: **_"I know who killed Bob." _

I felt uneasy under Bellick's stare; his lips pushed in a thin line across his rather bulky, full features. I stood up straight, eyes dancing from his to the floor as he continued to stare, it was as if he thought the longer he starred the more intimidated I would become, he wanted me to break; he wanted me to rat T-Bag out, he'd been waiting for this moment from the minute I walked though those doors. The suspense was awful, sweat continued to bead up on my brow and upper lip as he leaned against the edge of the Warden's desk, crossing his feet in front of the other, and then he laughed. A loud, booming laugh, tears formed at the creases of his eyes as he continued. Maybe he'd gone mad; maybe he was the one who had finally cracked. From the way he had perused almost every inmate in the prison for information on Bob's killer, I knew he had history with this guy. His laugh died down as he wiped a loose tear from the corner of his eye. I continued to stand there, motionless as I watched the somewhat frightening scene unfold.

"A little late on the news aren't we, Boswell?" he chuckled, pushing himself up from the desk and placing his hands on the sides of his belt before pulling them up, readjusting it so that it sat atop his gut. I knitted my brows, confused. What news? What was he talking about, T-Bag was still in his cell when Patterson was leading me up here, oh no… "Someone already tuned ole' Trokey in." he had calmed down now, the smile fading from his lips just as quickly, if not quicker, than it had come. My body froze, Trokey? I didn't even know who that was, I mean, of course I'd heard the name before. He must have seen how confused I was. Nothing was making sense…maybe T-Bag didn't kill Bob. "What?" he asked, a look of suspicion crossing his features, I snapped my head up in his direction. He knew something was up. I shook my head anyways, crossing my arms around my body almost as if I was trying to protect myself from something.

"Nothing." I answered, desperately thinking of something else to say, anything, even a simple it was a mistake would have sufficed. He continued to look at me, his eyes squinting as he tried to read my mind from across the room; he knew I was lying. "I just- I didn't know someone had already told you." I answered; he continued to approach me, taking a pair of handcuffs from his belt before motioning for me to hold my hands out. I did as told and bit the inside of my cheek as the cold iron encircled my wrists, it was only recently that I noticed how much weight I had lost; my wrists were skinner than they were when I started out.

"Why didn't you just say all this before? Ya' know, when I asked ya?" he pressed as he opened the doors leading us from the Warden's office. Warden Pope turned, a hand on his chin as he watched us retreat from the room, Becky sat the desk; trying with all her might not to be incredibly nosey, but failing miserably as she looked up from her computer screen. The Warden gave me a grave stare and then ignored my presence as Bellick led me towards the doors leading from the exterior office; I diverted my gaze towards the floor. Every time I saw the Warden I expected him to make an apology, whisk me away at any moment and tell me they were letting me out of here…but, I guess that was never going to happen. I looked up at Bellick as he began to lead me back towards Gen-Pop, remembering the advice he had given me on my first day here.

"I would have been a squealer." I answered, "And that makes me as good as dead in this place." He pushed his lips in a straight line at my answer; I was brought to believe that he expected some whimpy answer like ' I was too scared' or 'I didn't know what else to do' "That is what you told me, right?" The rest of the venture to Gen-pop was silent besides the occasional grunt that emitted from his throat whenever he readjusted his belt. As soon as he uncuffed my hands I made a bee-line for my cell, ignoring the stares that the other inmates threw my way, particularly the stares from Michael and T-Bag. With a sigh, I flung myself onto the floor, sitting with my legs drawn up to my chest as I rested my chin atop my knees. Nothing was making since, either that, or I had everything wrong. I was sure that T-Bag had killed Marilyn, just to send a message that people were going to suffer if I told on him, but, then why didn't he make a scene when I was being taken to the Warden's office? I leaned my head against the wall, closing my eyes as the thoughts continued to race about in my head. Westmorland lay in the bottom bunk, his back turned towards me, still as a statue; he had been like this ever since Marilyn's passing, excuse me, murder. I felt bad for him; I knew all too well the pain of loosing somebody close to me…someone that I loved very much. A low whistling sound gripped my attention, ripping me away from my memories and thoughts; I lifted my head slowly, my neck straining to look into the eyes of the menacing pervert that stood in the entrance of my cell. He rested against the bars, his arms crossed over his chest, the kid, Cherry stood next to him; his knuckles white as snow as he gripped the dreaded and, surprisingly clean, piece of cotton clothing. He shrunk under my stare, almost as if he felt ashamed of something. It suddenly hit me; he didn't only tell T-Bag…he was sticking up for him. God, I felt so bad for this kid. T-Bag sucked on his bottom lip as he motioned for me to stand up, I wasn't in the mood for any verbal assault, so I followed his instructions. He stood, his fingers stroking his goatee as he sized me up with his eyes. I pressed my back against the wall; both of us starring at each other for a few more seconds, like a predator starring down its prey before the final attack.

"Ya' know, Sweetpea," he started, walking into the cell a small ways, I stepped off the wall; ready to make a run for it or bother Westmorland if the need aroused. "You really shouldn't be goin' and makin' friends with the pigs." He laughed, it suddenly faded, and he began serious. "That's Cherry's job, ya hear?" I kept quite until I heard his feet shuffling against the ground, quickly, I looked up from the ground meeting his stare; I nodded quickly, wanting nothing more than for him to disappear. It was almost as if the good lord himself had heard me, seeming to come out of thin air, a very familiar and somewhat frightening voice rippled though the air.

"Take a walk." Abruzzi demanded, his own body leaning up against the iron bars of the somewhat closed cell door. T-Bag snorted in response, giving me a sickening look before glaring at Abruzzi as he exited the cell, Cherry following behind him like he was his own shadow. I sighed as I let my barred breath escape my lips; Abruzzi was the kind of person you hated and absolutely loved to have around all at the same time. He was like pervert repellent, whenever he was around T-Bag scattered. Abruzzi turned and watched, making sure that T-Bag was actually stalking back towards his own cage before he turned towards me again; motioning for me to follow him. I stood there, not sure to trust him or not, he continued to walk from the opening of the cell, unaware that my body was still planted in the spot by the wall. He stopped a few moments later, shaking his head as he stalked back towards the cell, again, he motioned for me to follow; I responded the same, a blank look crossing over my face. He rolled his eyes and leaned against he bars for a brief moment.

"Listen, kid, if I really wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. Trust me." He sighed, his voice edgy. I had no other choice than to agree with him, it's true, I had thought about that many times. A lot of the other inmates that I thought wanted me dead…nothing was stopping them from doing it, especially Abruzzi, it probably would have made their situation a whole lot easier anyways; they didn't need me for the "plan". I silent followed, keeping a short distance in between the two of us as we ascended the steps leading to the second level cells, it didn't take me long to realize who's cell we were actually heading towards.

"What did you tell them?" Michael asked, we hadn't even made it into the cell before he came towards us; a harsh look covering his features, eyes blazing with a hellish fire that I had never known he could possess. His fists were clenched down by his sides, Sucre stood behind him, rubbing his bald had anxiously; almost like they were waiting for some impending doom. I stood there, mouth hanging slightly open in a dumfounded way…they thought I told. I shook my head, just wanting to spew it out in lone long sentence, but Michael wasn't letting me get a word in otherwise.

"I-I- I didn't-"

"Don't lie to me." He fumed, his lips pushed together almost like he was trying to hold back from screaming in my face, his eyes were cold and hard, the creases in his forehead clearly showing anger.

"I didn't say anything." I answered harshly, "I didn't even know if T-Bag actually did anything." I spat, infuriated by the notion that I would betray them like that, just blatantly confess to something I didn't even know about until Bellick himself accused me of knowing who did it; it was working on a hunch, a hunch that was just proven correct. "Why didn't you tell me someone killed him?" I asked harshly, turning the tables on Michael now; he had lied to me, disclosed the information, not even attempting to tell me that someone killed the CO. He starred down at me, his eyes softening slightly as he dragged a hand down his face, a sigh escaping his lips in a long and low breath of relief.

"I'm sorry." He sighed, opening his eyes and looking down at me, I pushed my lips a straight line. Not knowing if I could forgive him or not, knowing me, I would in a matter of moments. I had always been too much of a forgiving person; I forgave too easily…but I never forgot. I didn't know if he was apologizing for the lie or for accusing me of being a tattle-tale. "Erica, I'm sorry." He apologized again, "It's just-"he stopped as a few inmates passed in front of us, making sure they were out of ear shot he began to speak again "We're this close. We're almost out of here." I really did want to believe Michael, but nothing was always what it looked like…

It was the next day when we learned that our PI crew was assigned to the guard's room; we all tried to keep the smirks and jeers to a minimum as the guards led us from the storage shed at the other end of the yard. Michael and Lincoln brought up the front; shoulders squared a sense of pride and accomplishment held in their strides as they walked in front of us. Abruzzi, Sucre, and I brought up the rear of the small group. I must have looked out of place, strange even. I was drafted by the size of the other four men that walked before me; I was in the middle, almost like they were protecting me from the outside world. I swallowed the nervous lump that had formed in my throat since this morning, this really wasn't how I pictured living my life after high school; breaking out of prison wasn't something that had ever crossed my mind, then again…it probably never crossed any of their minds either.

"Hey, hey, hold up here," I wanted to roll my eyes at the voice that peeled though the small breeze; T-Bag stood at the gate, fingers latching onto the mesh fence like a hungry dog; a scary, very scary, hungry, crazy dog. "Seems to be a bit of confusion, I'm supposed to be on this detail." He informed us, his voice slow and knowing. He knew what was going on, or at least he knew something was going on.

"I don't think so." Abruzzi informed the guard that flanked us, I turned my head, neck stretching as I watched T-Bag's face fall as we continued on towards the room, without his company. Serves him right, his eyes connected with mine for a moment.

"Oh, John," he sounded disappointed, almost like a mother scolding her children after they come home with an unacceptable grade, "You can't be serious." He continued to walk behind the fence, following out every move. "Not after our long illustrious history we shared together." I knitted my brows together, shoving my hands into the oversized pockets of the PI uniforms; they made me look shorter than I already was. I didn't understand T-Bag's motives for this anymore. "All those nights in New York City, " As if on cue, each of us turned and looked in T-Bag's direction; he wasn't stupid…he knew exactly what was going on. "In California," we continued to ignore him, "In St. Louis." Michael abruptly stopped, each of us following suite; T-Bag knew exactly, to a tee what Michael had planned…as much as it pained me to think and to even want to say; we had to let him in on it, if not, none of us were getting out of here.

"They were good times' weren't they, John?" he teases, pressing his face to the fence, a twisted smirk gracing his thin lips as he gazed at Abruzzi and Michael, daring them to reject his plea. "Tell the badge here all about em'. Cause' if you don't…I certainly will." Each of us looked towards Abruzzi, looks of panic radiating towards him.

I took a spot on the other side of Lincoln as the door opened, a guard pulled T-Bag along behind him, and Bellick was already inside when we had gotten there. His plump face beat red with anger; he didn't like the idea of prisoners being so "free" to do work in here, or anywhere else on prison grounds for that matter. I avoided T-Bag's gaze as he smirked around the room, throwing a wink my way.

"I want this place gutted," Bellick announced, his tone booming. I looked around the room; truthfully, I hadn't expected the room to look this bad. Everything from the table to the walls, to the counter tops were charred black, soot and dirt covered every inch of it. "They drywalls gotta be torn out. The studs gotta be removed." I involuntarily snorted, a grimace appearing on my face as I continued to peer around the room, not only did I know understand what he was talking about with "studs" and "drywalls" I'd never been one to play in the dirt, not even when I was younger.

"Boss," Abruzzi interrupted, Bellick looked up, his face going a deeper shade of red as he starred at the mob boss. In here Abruzzi was just another inmate, and Bellick knew that, gritting his teeth together as he listened to the con talk, "We got some toxic issues here. Asbestos, to start with."

"Take it up with the union." Bellick bellowed before returning his attention to the rest of us. "This room is your only priority now." Oh, he had no idea… "It better be bran-spankin' new when you're done." My mind wandered as he began to give us the whole run down, threatening us with days or weeks in the SHU for any funny business or attempting to cart one of the tools out of the room at the end of the day. I couldn't help but wonder about my little medical issue, you see, I have asthma. Kept me from doing sports my whole life, I didn't know if this would affect it at all and…my ribs, how was I supposed to dig with a broken rib? I would have to make due, hopefully Dr. Tancredi didn't get wind of this. Once the guards had left we all dispersed in several directions of the room, slowly, once Lincoln moved I felt every uncomfortable; hearing the lock click behind us. I could see T-Bag moving towards me from the corner of my eyes, I didn't care that several other convicts were in the room with me; even one that T-Bag was completely and utterly terrified off; being in the same space with this man sent my stomach into a tizzy. Before he could get any closer I walked forward, standing with my arms crossed over my chest as I watched Michael and Lincoln move the table out of the way, brining the charred carpet up with it.

"This goes down four feet. Connects to the main line below," Michael explained as we all gathered around the small drain in the middle of the floor. My heart beat against my chest, how was this going to work, how were we going to dig a hole without the guards or other inmates finding out. "All we've gotta do is widen it, and we've got ourselves an on ramp to Route 66." He finished with a smile, he took the grated lid from the top and tossed it across the room, and there we stood face to face with the can sized hole that would soon be out way out of here. Sucre took a spot next to the door, keeping an ear pealed for any guards that might happen to come this way. I was shocked to see Michael produce several large sledgehammers from the wheelbarrow full of tools, handing one to each of us. I groaned slightly as the weight fell upon my hands, almost toppling me to the ground, a pain ripped though my side. I tried hard to keep the look of pain off my face as I held the hammer down by the sides; this wasn't going to be easy.

"Michael, aren't they going to hear this?" I asked, gulping lightly as I looked at the concrete on the floor, before looking back up at him. I really hoped he had a better plan than this.

"They won't." he reassured me, grabbing one of the blankets that covered the wheelbarrow; he folded it and laid it on top of the small hole; of course, to muffle the sounds. Michael turned to T-Bag and grabbed the sledgehammer from his hands, earning a glare from the skinny man; he sucked on his bottom lip for a moment, trying to keep his cool. "You're on watch." He informed him, jerking his head towards the door, relieving Sucre of his earlier duties. T-Bag looked at me, and then back to Michael, a grim look covering his face before he retreated; suddenly he turned around.

"Now, hold up a minute, Pretty." He announced as he stopped in front of the blue door, a mischievous smile spreading across his lips, "Since you is a scholar, I'm surprised you didn't realize your own miscalculation." He continued, placing a hand on his hip as he moved his finger along the shapes of the rest of us standing around the room. "Six cons and oh, lookie' here, only four sledgehammas'" he observed, "Now, I don't know how far' your education went, Pretty, but I sure as hell learned that four sledgehamma's ain't enough for six people." He was a sly son of a bitch; I had set my hammer down, fearing if I held it any longer the pain in my side would worsen, making me incapable of doing anything. His eyes traveled over to me, fingers stretching until they gripped the edge of the blue PI uniform. "Sweetpea and I," he emphasized, "will take watch dutay'" he finished, tugging me forward.

Both Michael and Abruzzi stepped forward, taking several threatening steps towards T-Bag, I didn't struggle; knowing he was being bolder than usual; he wouldn't get very far with the rest of them breathing down his neck. He abruptly let go of the hold he had on my shirt, holding his hands up in defense. Michael gently gripped my shoulder, turning me around so I was facing the rest of the group, slowly guiding me towards the hole.

"I don't think so." Abruzzi replied, "_Papi_," he grabbed Sucre's sledgehammer form him, his eyes never leaving T-Bag as they continued with the world's scariest and longest stare down, "You're on watch." I could hear T-Bag mumbling profanities directed towards the rest of us as he and Sucre opened up the door, positioning themselves on the other side before shutting it behind them, Abruzzi locked it and joined the rest of us around the small hole. I swallowed hard, taking a deep breath; I didn't think Michael nor the rest of them knew that my ribs wasn't completely healed, or that the pain was already radiating up the side of my body. Sweat began to build upon my brow, not only because it was surprisingly hot in here, but because of the rising anticipation that was taking a hold of me. I jumped slightly as the sound of the sledgehammer hit the ground first, Lincoln recoiling from the shockwave, Abruzzi followed, then Michael; I took a deep breath raising the hammer into the air painfully before bringing it back down onto the ground, my arms feeling like jelly, a fire spreading up my sides. I wasn't strong like the other three of them, they could tolerate the ten pound object as they lifted it and brought it back down, actually damaging the floor; mine merely bounded off not even so much as chipping it. I began to feel lightheaded as the minutes dragged by, sweat poured off the tip of my nose and strange spots danced in front of my eyes as I brought the hammer down again, the pain ripping though my side.

"Are you okay?" Michael asked at one point, the sound of Abruzzi's hammer slamming down onto the ground shook the building. I had wiped the enormous amount of sweat from my brow and looked at him with heavy eyes, replying with the classic 'yeah, everything's fine' answer. The way he looked at me…he knew I wasn't fine. When it came my turn, I staged, my feet carrying me sideways as I lifted the hammer into the air, but, it came down too soon, the tip merely bouncing off the floor as I swayed to the side. My heart beat against my chest as I dropped the hammer onto the ground, immediately cradling my side as I felt the ribs rubbing together, I groaned and fell forward; but my body never hit the ground. I opened one eye lazily, seeing Michael hovering over me, his hands on either side of my face as she called my name. His voice sounded distant and unreal to me, as did Abruzzi's and Lincoln's it was almost as if I was behind a wall of soundproof glass, and they were on the other side.

"Erica," Michael said loudly, wiping the sweat drenched hair away from my forehead, "Erica, come on. What's wrong?" he repeated, "Lincoln, cover up the hole." He ordered his brother, I could already imagine the look of frustration the must have wore. Dark spots danced at the corner of my eyes as I tried to keep my eyes open, the pain still coursing up my side as I began to shake slightly. "Come on…" I let my mind go blank as everything in front of my eyes turned to black…

**A/N: Damn those ribs :) This chapter was meh'. I promise they're going to get better. I swear. I was a little rusty after having not written for a week. Reviews? Thanks.**


	25. Freshmen

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews; I know the problem with her ribs makes her seem like a Mary Sue (I'm completely aware of this), but, I can't just ignore the fact that doing heavy lifting like she was would pose a problem with them healing. I'm trying to make this as real as possible. **

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners. **

**Dr. Tancredi Pov**

I threw the latex gloves away as another patient was escorted from the room; a small scuffle had broken out at yard, I didn't probe or ask how or why it had happened. I could only guess it was one of two things, it was either the ongoing race war between the Mexicans, African Americans, and the Whites, or, it was about money that was owed; what they did with money is this place was useless. Shoving the file back into the cabinet I sat down at my desk and sighed, awaiting another minor injury to enter the room at any moment. I glanced up as the door leading to the hallway closed with loud bang, it echoed off the white and sterile walls of the infirmary. Patterson looked panicked as he rushed straight towards the room to which I occupied, fear flashing though his eyes. Being a doctor, you start to remember people's facial expressions when something terrible was wrong; and right now, my doctorial instincts told me that some was very, very wrong. Before Patterson could even touch the handle I had already rushed forward, moving stray stands of my red hair behind my ears as I whipped the door open with great force.

"We got a problem, Doc." He informed me, his brown eyes dancing with concern, his breathing labored from the run he had just endured. Without another word, I grabbed the keys from my pocket and locked the door behind us as we sprinted out of the room. A few other male nurses followed with a gurney rolling behind them. I couldn't even image to begin to think of something that would panic a CO this much; they'd seen it all, stabbings, mutilations, prisoners with their necks barely attached to their spine.

"What happened?" I asked my feet carrying me swiftly and quickly, I was always a few steps in front of the CO, and several times I had to slow my pace; I had no clue where I was leading myself.

"It's the girl, Doc." My heart leapt in my chest as I focused my remaining attention on Patterson, I didn't have to ask twice; I already knew it was Erica. Without another thought I sprinted towards the building that he was leading us towards, the male nurses and Patterson himself having to step into a semi-jog to keep up with my pace. I cured the prison system under my breath, I told Warden Pope it was too early for her to be put back in Gen-Pop, I hoped he would have sympathy and put her in AdSeg until she was properly healed, maybe even turn her loose. My heart clenched as I slowed my jog down, breathing heavily as I observed the inmates that stood outside of the doors; she was doing PI work…in a room…filled with male inmates. My jaw clenched, T-Bag, John Abruzzi, and Fernando Sucre stood outside of the doorway; each and everyone of them looking genuinely nervous and frightened, whether it was because they knew I was going to find out with they did to her, or because they were just afraid; I couldn't tell. Patterson ordered them to stay back as he led the gurney and I into the dark room. It was charred to a crisp, I was surprised to see that PI was actually allowed to do work on a room like this; usually they would have called in a professional team to do so. It didn't take me long to notice the figures that stood, or kneeled, in some cases; Michael was kneeling on the floor with Erica's limp and slightly shaking body held in his arms, almost too protectively, Lincoln Burrows stood to the side, a look of fear flashing across his eyes as he looked at me. I couldn't help but wonder if they had done something, maybe she was trying to dig too deep, maybe she was trying to get too much out of him and he snapped.

"What happened?" I asked, finally finding my voice as kneeled down next to Michael. Erica opened her eyes slowly, sweat beading on her forehead and face as she winced in pain, she blinked several times. Michael watched me carefully as I wiped the sweat from her forehead, brushing back the sweat drenched hair; I was shocked at how protective Michael was being of her, it was almost like…he cared. "Erica?" I asked, quietly, "Can you hear me?" she mumbled in response after a few moments, fear and pain lacing each inaudible word that tumbled from her mouth. Taking a pair of gloves from my pocket I quickly put them on, glancing up at Lincoln who had began to pace slightly behind Michael, his hands held behind his head. I continued with my examination slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements as I felt her side; she winced, her body jumping to the side as a small cry escaped her lips. There was no way I could tell if the rib had moved again or not.

"Is she going to be okay?" Michael asked, concern lacing his words. I looked up at him, even though it was too bright in this room, I could already see a sea of fear in his blue eyes. It wasn't every often that you saw a prisoner with so much compassion for somebody else, especially someone that they barely knew, but, he did save my life…and he'd probably saved hers a few times as well. "Dr. Tancredi-"

"She's going to be fine, Michael." I answered turning and motioning for Patterson and the male nurses to wheel the gurney into the room. "I need you to help me get her onto the gurney, okay. Can you do that for me?" I asked, almost like I was talking to a frightened animal. He nodded quickly and started to get up; I wrapped my arms around her legs, one of my hands supporting the side that housed the broken ribs as the two of us heaved the girl onto the bed. "Okay, lets get her out of here." I said, helping the two other nurses push the gurney out of the room, to my surprise, and utter amazement, I heard Patterson arguing with Michael.

"Not you, Scofield." I looked behind me as we passed the other inmates that were standing around outside. Patterson's arm was extended across Michael's chest as he stood in the door way, Michael's eyes watching wearily as we left.

"Doc, she gonna be alright?" Fernando asked as we passed them, I glanced in his direction and gave him a small nod, not being able to ignore the other two inmates standing next to him. John stood with his arms crossed over his chest, looking down at the ground as he scuffed his booted feet into the pavement, killing the small blades of grass the were attempting to sprout free from their concrete home. T-Bag stood next to him, running his fingers along the very unattractive facial hair that made him look even more menacing them he already did.

**End Pov**

"_Daddy!" I screamed, half crying and half laughing as he chased me across the burning sand; I warned him several times to not chase me with dead sea creatures, but he just couldn't help himself. This time it was a dead crab, the shell was perfectly in tact, but it was missing several of its small legs and one of its massive claws. "Stop." I half giggled half shrieked as his booming laugh echoed off the crystal blue waters, shaking the dead animal in front of my eyes; my small hands flew up to my face and covered it in horror. My mother laughed beside us, she was trying desperately to shield her fair skin from the harsh sun that was beating down upon on that day. Her blonde hair was pulled into a tight bun, she was one of the few mothers with children that could prance around in a small yellow binki…my dad loved it. Taking the black sunglasses off her face she turned and looked at us, her eyes playfully scolding my father as she dropped the dead crap back onto the sand; I rushed forward, wanting to get revenge. With much disgust, I picked up the crab and tossed it in his direction, earning a playful glare and forced smile in my direction as he ran towards me. Giggles and shouts echoing off the water as he chased after me. That's how many of our vacations went; I was five years old then, it was one of the few vacations that we had in a long time, my dad's work was just too demanding…_

I opened my eyes slowly, my vision blurred from the bright light that flooded the room I was in, or waits; maybe it was the room itself. I blinked several times, letting my eyes adjust to the brightness before I realized where I was. I had begun to loose count at how many times I found myself in this room, laying against the soft cotton sheets, warm and well taken care off. I was scared they would begin to think I was getting hurt just so I could get out of Gen-Pop…that probably wasn't a bad plan. The plan; I cursed myself silently as I closed my eyes again, slowly bringing my hand up tot my face I groaned, letting it slide down my skin before letting it fall back onto the white sheets. I hoped they had time to cover up what we had been doing in there, god, I was never going to make it out of here, was I? The door opened slowly, Dr. Tancredi's pony tail popped into the room as she kept her eyes trained towards the file that was held in her hands, no doubt recording my latest incident. She closed the door like this, making her way towards the small metal tray that was stationed next to my bed. She looked down at me, disappointment and concern radiating out of her all at once, I felt guilty; adverting my eyes towards my lap where my hands sat, twiddling the thumbs, nervous.

"I'm sure you know why you're back in here, correct?" she asked as she cleared her throat, her brown eyes boring into mine with a hint of malice. I nodded sheepishly, it was like that time I dropped the Thanksgiving pie on the floor, my mother was furious, but, like Dr. Tancredi, she didn't show it. "Look," she sat down on the rolling chair that was positioned next to the metal bed side tray before she rolled towards me, her hands folded in her lap as she prepared to give me a stern talking to. "I need to know what happened." She said carefully, almost like she was trying to find the right words to say. It dawned on me that her initial thought wasn't that I had betrayed her orders and did physical labor; it was that I was harmed by someone in that room. I couldn't blame her for her thoughts though, I mean, I was in a room with T-Bag, whom she already knew was the culprit of my extensive injuries, and John Abruzzi, and not-yet convicted killer of a family member who has family in the presidential seat. I looked at her for a moment, shaking my head slowly.

"I just worked myself too hard." I answered gently. Her eyes searched mine for a moment, lips pushing in a straight; she didn't believe me. I could see the questions and accusations dancing behind those brown orbs "I should have listened you, stuck to inventory."

"Erica, you don't have to stick up for them." She said, ignoring my answer, "If they did anything to you, even so much as looked at you wrong, you need to tell me. They wouldn't stick up for if they were in you're shoes-"I didn't believe her, I mean sure, T-Bag and Abruzzi might not stick up for me; but, I was almost sure that Michael would in a flash, no questions asked.

"Dr. Tancredi," I stopped her rant, closing my eyes slightly. "It was my fault. I-I didn't want to look weak, so I tried to take the drywall out." I laughed, trying to help her picture the fake image I had just conjured up, "I should have known I wasn't that strong, it just wouldn't budge, and-and I guess I went too hard, and-" I trailed off, gesturing to my side, which was bandaged up, somewhat tighter than it was the first time. She smiled at my story, probably picturing me trying to do the very thing I had lied about, but her eyes, you can tell what someone is thinking just by the way they look at you…and she didn't believe me…

It had been a few days since I'd been in Gen Pop, and this time, I tried not to get too comfortable. I wouldn't complain though, digging in the dirt really wasn't something I wanted to do, but, Abruzzi's words just kept finding their way into my brain. _If you don't start pullin' your weight with this thing, then you're not goin'._ I set the sandwich that Dr. Tancredi had brought to me back onto the tray that I was balancing on my lap, I sure hoped the guys didn't think I was faking it; I could already name a few that did. I was brought from my thoughts as I heard the door close; I lost my appetite once I noticed the look on Dr. Tancredi's; she sighed out heavily and rubbed her fingers across her temples for a long moment, almost like she was contemplating on whether or not she should tell me something. Swallowing the last bit of my turkey and tomato sandwich I looked up at her.

"They're moving you back to Gen-Pop." She informed me, her voice held a sense of edge to it. I guess she was hoping that this time they would at least move me to a private part of the prison, one where I wouldn't be everyone's target. "I-just-I can't believe it." She sighed angrily, glancing down at the half eaten sandwich she pointed, "You done with that?" she asked hurriedly, her eyes glancing up towards the windows that were covered with the virgin white blinds. I nodded quickly as she scooped the barely touched lunch and tossed it into the trashcan. She had informed be before that it was forbidden to give inmates "outside" food; it was because we were being punished, I wanted to laugh at myself, I had actually brought myself down to their level, my name blending in with some of the worst in the world. It was silent for a moment, making the tension in the room more apparent.

"Um," I said quietly, clearing my throat as I reached over, grabbing the plastic cup of water and downing the rest of it quickly. "When-when are they moving me back?" I asked, I hope I didn't sound too hopeful. In all honesty, Gen-Pop, was the last place I ever wanted to see, but I didn't want the others thinking I was jumping ship.

"Today." She answered casually, like she knew the motives behind my innocent enough question, it was silent for another moment, "Mr. Scofield's been asking about you," She informed me, raising her eyebrows suspiciously; I tried to hide the smile that threatened to emerge, I licked my lips, hoping that it masked the slightly twitch the side of my mouth gave. "He seems pretty worried about you."

I saw T-Bag move swiftly and somewhat nervously as his eyes caught sight on Patterson and I walking towards the Guard's Room; I guess news hadn't gotten back to them that I was being released back to PI, I began to wonder how much progress they had made without my help; probably a hell of a lot more than if I was with them anyway. By the time Patterson and I made it to the interior door it was wide open, T-Bag stood outside, the bottom part of the pen stuck between his lips as he rolled it with his tongue, a low grunt emitted from his throat, acknowledging my presence.

"Well look what the cat done dragged in-"he observed, watching as Patterson unlocked the metal bracelets that held my wrists together. I ignored him as Patterson gripped the underside of my loosely, leading me into the break room. Abruzzi turned around first, pretending, and very well I might add, that none of them noticed the CO entering the room, nor did they know he was coming. Without another word or glance Patterson left, leaving us to do our job. It was a few more moments before we all heard T-Bag knock that edge of the clipboard against the edge of the door, signaling that the coast was clear, but, neither of them moved…except for Michael. I continued to stand there, waiting for a fit of verbal abuse and questions, especially from Abruzzi…but it didn't come. Instead I felt warmth, Michael's arms wrapped around me, pulling me against his chest and keeping me there for a few moments, the pressure against our bodies increasing by the minute. If it weren't from the pain shooting up my side I would have wrapped my arms around him tighter, instead I let them rest against his shoulders; it seemed that the temperate in the room spiked about ninety degrees, or maybe it was me. He pulled away slowly, his breathing labored as he looked at me in pure shock.

"Sorry. Are-are you alright?" he asked, ignoring the other two men who had taken places behind him. I tried to slow my shallow breathing as I nodded, swallowing the lump of embarrassment that had formed in my throat, my cheeks burning hot.

"Yeah, I'm fine." I answered, looking up at him. Abruzzi cleared his throat, breaking the touching moment apart, shattering it like a glass window.

"Look, this is all very touching," he explained, holding the sledgehammer tighter in his hands as he began to make his way towards the covered up hole, squatting down he pulled the blanket up from the concrete floor, specks of concrete and dust littered the floor. "But," he grunted, throwing the blanket aside, "Time is of the essence, so if we can please, move along here." He sounded frustrated, motioning for Sucre to grab the other blanket so they could get back to word.

I look down at the floor sheepishly, too embarrassed to look at Michael at the moment. I knew he felt something, hell, I felt something; it was odd, that fuzzy feeling of fear that I'd entered this prison with was soon being taken over by butterflies of anticipation and affection. The sounds of metal hitting the concrete filled the room as Sucre and Abruzzi began to dig, sighing I reached forward, my fingertips stretching to grab a hold of the sledgehammer that was resting against the wall; Michael's hands made it there first, gripping the wooden handle and moving it out of my reach.

"Michael-"I protested, the muffled sound of concrete hitting metal suddenly stopped, an awkward silence filled the room.

"No, you're not doing this part." He ordered, turning, he began to walk towards the other two. Abruzzi starred at him dumbfounded; his words repeated in my head once again, here it comes.

"Whoa, Fish, let's think about this." He tossed his sledgehammer down onto the concrete floor, the metal bouncing off it. "We all have to pull our weight with this thing, what is she going to do? Huh?" he pressed, hands on his hips as he looked at me; Sucre's eyes traveled from me and then over to Michael, not sure which one of us he should focus on. "She doesn't get a free ride just because you two have a little thing goin' on." My head snapped in their direction; what we had definitely wasn't a thing…at leas I didn't think it was. Both of us admired each other, I knew that, but I wasn't sure if we fancied each other.

"Time is of the essence, John." Michael answered, raising the sledgehammer before he brought it back down; his eyes fixing on the mob boss as he starred at him in shock, not used to being talking down to. "Well?" Michael pressed, "Are you just gonna stand there? The quicker we dig," he grunted, brining the hammer down again, "The quicker we get out of here." He glanced up at me for a moment; Abruzzi grabbed his hammer from the ground, cursing under his breath as he joined the other two in continuing with the job. I stood there awkwardly, leaning against the wall as I watched the sweat pouring off their bodies as they worked; I felt like shit. Not only was it uncomfortable to stand for that long, not to mention the pain that coursed thought my body every time I tried to sit down, but, I felt terrible, watching them do all the dirty work. I couldn't help but notice the chips of concrete that littered the floor; knitting my brows together I scratched my head momentarily.

"Michael," I asked walking forward until I was close enough that I wouldn't have to yell to get his attention. "If the guards find this stuff," I kicked a piece of concrete out of my way slightly, "Won't they know that we're digging?" Abruzzi stopped digging and looked up at me, rolling his eyes at my poor choice of words; I wish I could take them back.

"That's why we gotta get rid of it." Michael answered, his hammer slamming down onto the ground again. "One piece at a time." My dropped open slightly, how in the hell was this going to work out. Abruzzi didn't let me leave without a pocket full of concrete, telling me to make myself useful.

I squinted my eyes from the sun and walked along the length of the mesh fence, dropping pieces of concrete several feet apart, and then rubbing my boot across it in an attempt to bury the evidence in the grass.

"_Attention in the yard. All prisoners remain forty feet away from Gate A." "New prisoners arriving in five minutes." _

Abruzzi motioned to me from across the yard, a small smile playing across his lips as he watched me drop the pieces of white cement onto the ground, burying them with my feet. Michael walked past me pointing with his hand down by his side for me to follow him; I dropped a few more pieces before I continued down the length of the fence. Taking a spot next to Michael he looked down at me and smiled, I smiled back slightly. I guess he was just as surprised as I was that this plan of his was actually looking to be going in a good direction. We both watched as a bus pulled into the small parking lot, transporting a fresh batch of inmates no doubt, an uncontrolled shiver ran down my spine; they were probably going to be even nastier than the ones that were already in here.

"Freshmen." T-Bag's slimy voice slithered from beside me; I slowly turned my head and observed the look on his face. He seemed a little to happy about the new "competition" coming into the prison; his ran his teeth over his bottom lip, savoring the sights of the new and quite younger looking inmates. It disgusted me, knowing that a man like him would soon be out on the streets, able to prey on the weak without anyone to stop him. I clenched my jaw as I heard him sigh out happily, his eyes glazed over with anticipation; he walked away a moment later. Michael grasped my arm slightly, his fingers sending a shiver, a good one at that, up my spine.

"Come on." He whispered, pulling me along slowly.

"Looks like I gotta find something else to call ya' now." Sucre observed as we walked into the area where our cells were housed. I had come to like Sucre a bit, I mean, after learning that he was in here for a minor charge, armed robbery, that was a walk in the park considering the other reasons why many were in here, and the fact that he was escaping so he could see his one true love, as he put it, made it all the more easier to feel comfortable around me. Michael's lips twisted into a small smile at his friend's remark, in turn, I smiled myself; he seemed to be able to do that.

"Why's that?" he snickered, his arm brushing against mine; it didn't feel voluntary, or maybe it was, I shouldn't even be thinking of things like that.

"Cause' you ain't a fish no more. You ain't the newest con in the tank-"he abruptly ended his sentence, his eyes adverting upwards towards the row of cells that lined the top. Michael and I followed his gaze, my hand immediately flying up to cover my mouth. Cherry, T-Bag's newest, I honestly didn't even know what to call him, 'girlfriend' 'prison bitch' 'lover', none of them fit the kid; I could see it everyday, he didn't want to be with T-Bag, he just pulled the short stray and was tricked into a cell with him. He stood on the top balcony, his legs carefully, one after the other, stepping over the side of the railing, several sheets had been tied in a knot around each other, forming a makeshift rope; the noose was tied around his neck, and he jumped; not valiant speech was made, he didn't even make a sound, he merely jumped. Several inmates jeered at the sight, some booming and raising their fists into the air.

My maternal instincts set in; every woman has them, you know, the feeling that you get when you want to protect somebody, even if you don't know them, even when they may have done something to betray you? It was like a mother and her child, not matter what that child did…they would always love them. Now, I didn't even know Cherry, I never wanted to get to know him; all I know is that something inside me kicked my legs into the gear and I rushed forward, wrapping my arms around his legs as I tried to pull him down.

"Somebody help." I gasped, the tears already falling freely down my cheeks; it didn't surprise me that no one moved, but, it did surprise me that Michael didn't move. He stood there, mouth agape and eyes wide as he looked on. Before I could shout for any more held, CO's were already swarming the scene, pulling me away from the limp body that hung above in front of me. I wiped my nose, feeling the tears slip over my lips as I backed away from the scene, my legs threatening to give out. How was it that I lasted longer than him?

**Emily Pov**

I sat on the couch, my cell phone lay open; it beeped, signaling that that battery was going dead. Groaning I slammed by head down onto the cushion of the beige couch, I hadn't realized that they damn remote was there. I cursed under my breath as I heard the television turn on, knowing that there would be a mark in the middle of my forehead in the morning. Just when I thought couldn't get any worse; I forgot to turn the volume on the television down before I turned it off the previous night. I rubbed the spot on my forehead slightly as my tired eyes glanced at the television, trying to adjust to fluorescent light that cascaded into the room, illuminating the small apartment. I had been up since early this morning, not only working on my term paper, but, also calling every single attorney in the state, and firms within a two-hundred mile radius of the Chicago area; each and every one of them gave me the same answer 'not without a witness' someone in that prison has to know what happened.

"And in other breaking news," the blonde newscaster spoke in a robotic sounding voice; they all sounded fake to me. "The key suspect in the double homicide of Lisa Rix-"I ignored the news report as I got up from the couch stretching, I listened to the joints creak, and I really needed to exercise. "Lincoln Burrows Jr, the son of convicted murderer, Lincoln Burrows, has escaped police custody and is on the run." I suddenly stopped mouth hanging agape as I listened to the news cast. Lincoln Burrows has a son…and he's killed someone. A picture of the said son flashed onto to the screen a number plastered to the bottom flashing several times. "If anyone has any information about Mr. Burrows' whereabouts they are asked to call this number-"

**End Pov**

**A/N: Terrible ending. I apologize. Happy Thanksgiving!**


	26. Tweener

**A/N: Happy Thanksgiving everyone! Hope everybody is enjoying this day with their family and friends; I swear I gained about fifty pounds today. Thanks for all the reviews/alerts/subscriptions; it's getting down to the wire here. **

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners. **

"_I could have done something." Michael scolded himself again for the hundredth time. I had willingly let him haul me down to the chapel during tier time, I had a hunch that he was waiting for Lincoln; that's usually when he was here. Michael sat next to me, his head held in his hands as he trained his eyes down towards the ground. It wasn't until several minutes ago that he had informed me that 'Cherry' had asked for his help, nothing in particular, just help. I could already see the regret pooling in Michael's eyes and words as he thought back to the day, and then back to the even that had taken place during the end of yard; it came to my attention that he felt that he had a duty to protect people, no matter what the circumstance. _

"_No, Michael." I reassured him, placing a hand carefully on his arm. I felt just as bad as he did, but, he seemed to be taking it the hardest. "There's nothing you could have done for him." _

"_I could have told the pope." Michael continued, lifting his head from his hands and glancing over at him. I looked down at the wooden pew that we occupied, the tips of my fingers inattentively tracing patterns in the polished oak wood. "He could have transferred the kid to Ad Seg. He would have been safe." I contained a snort as it began to rise in my throat. I could have been moved to Ad Seg, I could have been safe. I could have been put in my own little cell, not having to share a toilet, a shower, or anything. Why didn't anybody do that for me..._

I shielded my eyes from the sunlight that seemed to slip though the clouds; Michael had been taken up to infirmary so Dr. Tancredi could re-bandage his toes, I never did ask who did that to him, I figured I would press the issue. Sucre, Abruzzi, and thankfully, T-Bag, was off doing their only thing. I decided to let Westmorland have some downtime to himself, he hadn't said much to me since he set the guard's room on fire, or since the death of his one true companion. I squinted my eyes and let them travel up the length of the pair of legs that stood in front of me as I sat on the against the fence. I didn't take my eyes long to reach their chest, whoever they were, they weren't very tall. He stood with his hands in his pockets, resting is weight all on one foot as he starred down at me, one of the sleeves of his shirt was rolled up, his arm donning a not very intimidating tattoo.

"Damn. Dem' playa's wasn't lyin'." His voice had a slight accent to it, not one from out of state, but definitely not one I imagined hearing coming out of the mouth of a white guy. He rubbed his hands together like he had just hit the jackpot, keeping my hands cupped over my forehead so I could see though the rays of light, I stood up from my spot on the ground. I was right, he wasn't very intimidating. He only stood a few inches taller than I did, I'd never seen a boy so pale in my life; reminded me of Vanilla Ice, you know, back in the ninety's when he was cool. I would never admit that I still listened to him. The boy dragged his teeth over his bottom lip, he's head weaving to the side as he "checked me out" as the boys would have said back in high school; for some reason, when they guy did it…it was intimidating, or frightening for that matter. He was just trying to fit in. He was scrawny compared to the other inmates, hell; he was even scrawnier than T-Bag was…I didn't think I'd ever see that. I bit my bottom lip as I tried to keep myself from laughing at his introduction; I guess instead of the other inmates warning the newer ones of people to steer clear of I was the new talk. "They' uh-," he sucked on his bottom lip for a moment, "They-uh got anymore hunnies' like you in this bitch?" he asked, cracking his knuckles, I swear I could almost see his body tremble with anticipation. It was like he'd never seen a girl before; he reminded me a fourteen year old boy going though puberty, which, I wouldn't be surprised to find out, was the case.

"Not unless you classify 'hunnies' as a big, hairy, sweaty man." I answered, he cracked a smile. I had to admit, it was nice seeing a real smile for once, I don't think he realized just how much he was in for.

"You got jokes, girl?" he asked, looking down towards the ground, I could see a faint coloring to his cheeks, almost like he was embarrassed. "So uh-," he sucked on his bottom lip again; what was this whole lip thing? I'd seen almost all the inmates do it at one time or another. "What they lock ya' up in this place fo' anyways? Being so beautiful?" I actually laughed, I didn't crack a smile, I didn't try and make myself laugh; a real genuine laugh escaped my lips, I could feel my cheeks go hot with embarrassment, it was flattering, really.

"If looks could kill." I chuckled; it soon faded as I used the word kill, and I guess I had tried to suppress the memory of what really got me landed in this situation I was in. I decided that I didn't know this kid well enough to just disclose the real story of my predicament. He laughed at my reply, covering his mouth with his hand as he did a small hop.

"Daym' shottie," he drawled out, before removing his hand from his mouth, disbelief still played though his eyes, "You be packin' dem' glocks?" I had lived in Chicago long enough to know the slang terms he was throwing around left and right; believe me, my mom was always with the intercity youth, counseling, tutoring, making sure they got home safely, she was the good Samaritan of Chicago. I had, many a times, volunteered at the boys and girls club that was in the neighborhood that many of the lived in. He reminded me of one of the youths, Darnell, that I'd counseled…It didn't last very long; they found him dead in a dumpster only two weeks after I had started the job, he was shot six times in the chest and stomach. They said it was a gang related killing. He wiped his nose with the tips of his fingers before he relaxed his shoulders, rolling them slightly as he pulled his pants back up on his hips, it didn't do him any good, they just began to sag again a second later. "How uh-"he jerked his chin in my direction slightly, " How did ya' manage to kill em'? Hide dat' gat in between dem' nice bon –bons of yours, huh?" he laughed and playfully punched me in the arm slightly; he must have thought we were friends. I wrinkled my nose in disgust as he gestured to my breasts, his smile faded as I scoffed and brushed past him, immediately crossing my arms over my chest, I hadn't felt this violated since…well, since Rocky, I thought I had escaped it all.

"Hey yo' I thought we was tight, homie!" he called, I glanced over my shoulder as I quickened my pace; I didn't quite know where I was headed, I just wanted to get out of this kid's line of sight. He continued to follow me, several times he picked his pants up from the ground as they began to fall even lower, his arms outstretched in a manner of truce. "Aight' den'," I heard him call from behind me, his voice no longer followed, meaning that he had stopped his pursuit. "I catch up wit' yew later den', bon-bons." I rolled my eyes and sighed out in disgust as I continued to walk towards the other side of the yard.

**Ms. Jones Pov**

I glanced down at the number on the ID caller, my breath hitching in my throat for a split second. This was the third time this week that the college administrations office had called here; each time I saw the number flash across the white calling box I ignored it, occupying myself with something else to do. I knew why they were calling; Emily had already informed me that some of the other students were getting suspicious about her absence; most of them had known her since high school. They knew she was always on time, always the over achiever…they knew something was wrong. I was thankful that Emily had kept her word and repeated the rehearsed line 'She's in Indonesia' to each and every one of them, including the substitute instructor that had been assigned since Professor Samuels had taken leave on the basis of emotional lethargy. I couldn't believe how selfish he was being.

"Hello?" I asked as I picked up the white cordless phone, perching myself at the bay window that overlooked my backyard; I could see the sun dancing across the buildings in the distance.

"Ms. Jones? It's lovely to finally hear your voice." The woman on the other line mused; she had only met the receptionist a few times, one of them being when Erica wanted to personally deliver her application to the University of Chicago. "We've been trying to get a hold of you all week."

"Oh, I apologize," I lied, fiddling with the woven poncho that I had slipped into minutes before the phone rang; my husband…ex-husband…had brought it back from Peru when he flew there to do a story of the Peruvian Rainforest. "I've just- I've been incredibly busy this past week." That was a lie. I spent most of my days inside, occasionally Frank Tancredi would join me for a cup of coffee or a bit of lunch, always looking at the pictures of Erica that lined the mantle above the fireplace, dreaming of the day she and Sara would meet. He always mused that those two would get along well; they had a lot in common. I couldn't bring me self to tell Sara that the girl she was treating at the prison was my only daughter, I just couldn't.

"Oh, well, that's quite understandable." The woman chuckled, I could hear things being moved around on top of the desk in the background. "But, I was just calling about your daughter, Erica Boswell, she hasn't been in the class for almost a month now." There was a pause, "Usually I don't do this, we would have just thought she dropped out, but, I remember your daughter…she made such a great impression on the students here." She paused again as I didn't answer. "I just wanted to confirm if she is still enrolled here, or if anything has happened-"

"Oh, no no." I suddenly answered, my heart clenching in my chest. I couldn't even imagine the horrors and torment she was going thought at this moment, just thinking about it sent the butterflies in my stomach into a whirlwind, I'd thrown up several times just thinking about it. "She's just- well you see…she's like her father. I understand for her major that she had to do an article of her choice. She's been in Indonesia for the last few weeks."

"Oh, I see." The woman chuckled; a sigh of relief could be heard in her voice. "I was beginning to worry. Erica is such a good student, you know she's due to graduate in the top five of her class." She explained. I let a tears lip from my eye, she'd worked so hard her whole life….

**End Pov**

I watched as Lincoln viciously smacked the sledgehammer against the ground, I jumped each time the metal tip hit the floor with a bang, they were going to hear this. There was no way that they couldn't, T-Bag had already informed me that he could hear it though the door when I was coming back from handing the inventory list over to CO Patterson; Michael made me stay inside the room with them, fearing for my safety if I was to be outside alone with Bagwell. I made myself useful though, while the 'men' did the hard labor, digging the hole, I took it upon myself to very slowly, and carefully, tear the drywall out; we wouldn't want to CO's noticing our lack of attention to the real job now right?

"Hey, hey!" Abruzzi called, I jumped as Lincoln's hammer came down again, "Slow down. Slow down!" I turned around just in time to see Abruzzi try and stop Lincoln, feverishly sticking his own hammer in front of his, but, to no avail. Burrows had become more hostile over the last couple of days, I couldn't blame him, his execution was only short of two weeks away…he was determined to get out of here one way or another. "Man, your brothers gonna give us away."

"Bulls coming." T-Bag informed us as he opened the interior door, closing it behind him. We all jumped into a frenzy each of us dropping our tools and grappling for the carpet to cover up the hole that was getting bigger by the second. I attempted to grasp the other end of the table to help Abruzzi transfer it onto the carpet but Michael wasn't having it, he gave me a stern look as he motion towards me hands that had already grasped the ends of the table. Knowing that protesting wasn't going to do any good I backed off, taking my place next to part of the wall that I had been so diligently been working at.

"Everybody out." Patterson ordered as he opened the door, his voice loud and booming. Patterson was one of the more soft spoken CO's never really raised his voice much, it shocked me.

"What?" T-Bag countered a confused expression on his face.

"I said everybody out. Now." He repeated. I looked over at Michael with a confused and frightened expression; he couldn't know about this, could he? Michael returned my look with a one equal to mine. Slowly I let T-Bag walk in front of me as we exited the room, my nerves on their very ends.

"Where are we going?" Michael asked as we walked outside and into the fresh air, my cheeks immediately felt chilled to the bone, the seasons were changing rapidly. That's one thing I hated about Illinois; the weather never seemed to be able to make up its mind.

"Down there, round the corner." Patterson informed us, pointing towards the corner of the building farthest away; I knitted my brows in confusion, no Co in their right state of mind would leave inmates unoccupied for any amount of time. "And don't move a damn muscle till' I come get you." Without another word he turned us away, out feet slowly gliding towards the spot he had pointed out.

"What in the hell was that all about?" I asked, no one in particular as I came into pace with Michael and Lincoln, the other three trailed behind us. Michael paced against the side of the building, I leaned against it my head held in my hands as I thought about all the possible reasons why Patterson could have come and taken us away. He had been in there too long to just be doing inventory that's for sure. It was a few minutes later that he emerged, my eyes grew wide as I saw another person emerge from the room behind him; Becky, the Warden's secretary. My mouth dropped open slightly; I swear, this prison had more drama then _One Live to Live_. "I did not see that coming." I whispered to myself. Becky seemed like a well do to woman, didn't seem the time to have a quickie on the job…especially not with a CO.

"You think he found the hole?" Sucre commented, completely oblivious to sexual innuendo that he had just created; I stifled a laugh, my maturely level was surely stunted in that department.

**Emily Pov**

I hadn't slept all night, and my pockets were running empty, kind of like the gas tank of my car. I slammed the palm of my hands against the steering wheel angrily as I looked at the small point of the gauge edging towards the illuminated 'E'. Why had I been up all night? Several empty cups of Starbucks coffee littered the back seat of my car, as well as an extra change of clothes, but they weren't for me. I had stopped by the twenty-four hour Wal-Mart and bought several plain white shirts and a pair of sweatpants just in case I ran across Lincoln Burrows Jr. If you hadn't guessed it already, that's why I had been out all night. After watching the 'Breaking News' alerts over and over again on the news my only choice was the go after him, and the fact that my story about the drug wars in Mexico had gone down the drain since they didn't permit any journalists from America to cross the border at this point made it all the more worth it. Lincoln Burrows Jr was my story…if Erica couldn't get the inside scoop on his father; I would just have to take matters into my own hands and attempt to get the story for her. I glanced at the rearview mirror, catching sight of the dark circles that hung under my eyes from the lack of proper sleep. The dashboard clock read; twelve noon. Pulling into the gas station I desperately dug in my pocket for a few spare dollars that may have somehow swam their way to the bottomless pit of my coat. Finding a five dollar bill, I sang the halleluiah and jumped from the car before rushing inside to pay the cashier. I took my place at the gas pump a moment later and stuck the nozzle into the canister, pumping it as I watched the price to make sure I didn't go overboard. A strange figure caught my eye as I looked around the shady mini-mart; he was curled up on the side of the building, feet bare and shivering; I was surprised that I hadn't seen him when I walked in. I tried to ignore the figure as my cheeks burned hot, I had always had a soft spot for the homeless; believing that they couldn't help it when other people merely brushed them off, saying that they could get a job if they really wanted one, but, it was just easier to beg for money and now shower; it was all complete bullshit.

My Good Samaritan side of me took hold not more than a second later. Stomping my foot on the ground I stopped pumping the nozzle and walked towards the side of the store, digging in my pockets for the small amount of change that I might have left. The figure looked young; I could tell he was boy, a young boy at that…didn't look more than fourteen years old. Cautiously I approached him, seeing his body shake.

"Hey," I said quietly, my voice sweeter than normal. "Are you alright?" the kid immediately snapped his head in my direction. Eyes wild and wide with fear, he suddenly jumped up, my mouth hanging open. His hair was a disheveled mess and his face was dirty, just like his feet. Lincoln Burrows Jr was just a scared kid.

"Lincoln!" I called after him as he took off at a run, his bare feet pounding against the pavement as I perused him. He looked back over his shoulder several times as we ran though the dirty road that trailed behind the mini-mart. My chest heaved and my hair blew in the wind as I continued to run after him, completely forgetting that my car was unlocked and filled to the brim for anyone to steal. Obviously this kid wasn't too trusting.

"Get away from me you bitch! You're probably one of them!" he screamed in my direction, turning as he chucked a few heavy rocks in my direction. I nearly dodged all of them before one caught me in my ankle, I don't think it had broken anything, but it hurt like hell.

"What are you talking about! I'm trying to help you!" I yelled back, rocking back and forth as I held my ankle with the other hand, rubbing my hand in a circle around it as he continued to look at me, dropping the rest of the rocks on the ground and walking backwards away from me.

"That's the same thing they said." And then he was out of sight, running into the bushes on the other side of the dirt road. I groaned as I stood up, limping slightly as I continued to stare at the hedges. One of them? This kid was seriously disturbed…but he didn't seem like he was talking about the police; something bigger was going on here…

**End Pov**

"Hey bon-bons." The kid from yard jerked his chin in my direction in greeting as we walked into Gen-Pop. I didn't like the way the kid acted, I mean, I didn't have a problem with the whole 'gangster-wanna-be' look…he was too proud, that was going to get him in trouble. Michael raised an eyebrow at the nick name the kid had given me, a small smile creeping up onto his face. I shook my head.

"I don't wanna talk about it." I answered, Michael chuckled in return, apparently was well aware of what the nick name meant, but, him being a gentlemen and all; I wish I had met someone like him on the outside, guys like Michael Scofield were hard to come by…it's a shame I had to get myself locked in a maximum security prison just to find one. I gave the kid small wave, not wanting to be rude. He flashed a smile in my direction, he had a nice smile, and good personality …I'll applaud him on that.

"What's the word, brother man?" and cocky…he was very cocky. "You all cookin' brownies or what?" I heard him ask one of the other inmates in line; this was defiantly the jungle. It was like mating season, almost like this kid was trying to show he was capable of being the alpha male. Kind of like what a bird does to get the females attention, he puffed his chest out and glanced back in my direction several times, like he was going to impress me.

"Act your race milk chicken." The inmate retorted; that's a new one. I heard Michael snicker from beside me as the two of us watched the scene unfold, I glanced in his direction the side of my mouth turning up into a smile.

"What?" I chuckled; he crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at me raising an eyebrow as he smiled.

"He's trying to impress you." He informed me, as if I didn't know this already. This really was a strange life I was leading.

"Yeah, I know." I replied, keeping my eyes peeled for anything out of the norm. The kid looked back in my direction again, flashing me a smile and a wave. Michael laughed beside me again. "But I don't go for the alpha male type." I teased looking up at him.

"Why's that?" he pressed, leaning his head in my direction. I shrugged casually and let my hands fall down so that they rested down by my sides, my arms pressing against his legs slightly.

"They're too high maintenance." I let my body tense with anticipation as the inmate that the kid had been 'harassing' stepped forward, the words he said were too quick for me to catch, but it wasn't good. The inmate suddenly hit the kid in the chest knocking him to the ground momentarily, the rest of the inmates had gathered around, waiting for a fight to break out. I stepped forward, ready to defend the kid. Yeah, you and what army Erica; I didn't intend to fight anyone, if it came to that, the kid was going to be on his own, plus, Michael wouldn't allow it to escalade that far. I felt I owed this kid in some way…he reminded me so much of Darnell.

"The boy just slipped." T-Bag suddenly intervened, coming to the kid's 'rescue'. He whispered something in his ear as he helped him up from the ground; the boy's face was red with embarrassment. Michael placed a hand on my shoulder as I swallowed hard as I watched the kid look at me as T-Bag tightened the grip on his arm. I winched as my labored breathing made my ribs jump. T-Bag looked straight at Michael and I, a smirk appearing on his lips as the boy winced in pain, T-Bag's words slithering into his ear. This was a game of finders keepers; and I'd found him first, I'd already let Darnell down…I wasn't about to do the same to this kid.

I hadn't seen much of the kids since yesterday morning; it scared me a little. Michael was off in the infirmary again, probably getting his foot bandaged up. John Abruzzi was too busy trying to sort out his problems, and Westmorland was too depressed to even talk; I mean, of course he said 'hello' 'goodbye' and 'goodnight', but that was it. We were just coming back in from yard when T-Bag's voice filled the room.

"You best sleep with one eye open, girlie." He warned, I turned around, not sure if he was directing this threat a me or another inmate. I could see his figure moving with the rest of the inmates that were being led back into Gen-Pop for the remainder of the day. I looked ahead, seeing Michael as he was escorted back though the front entrance into Gen-Pop.

"Bring it on, Bitch." The familiar voice rang from in front of me, my eyes focused on the kid as he turned around, letting a few inmates pass in front of him. I wasn't in a good position; right in-between two people that could make their argument escalade into something far more than that in a heartbeat.

"Oh, I'm gonna." T-Bag smiled, slapping his tights as he shoved out of the way. I braced my self as an all too familiar pain shot though my side, brandishing my teeth as I clutched my side, breathing though my nose. "I'm gonna bring it on in spades." I regained my composure a moment later, dragging my feet towards the pervert as he continued to pursue the boy.

"Leave him alone, T-Bag." I warned, my voice edgier than it had been in the past, actually, I'd never heard my voice like this before. Both T-Bag and the kid spun around; different emotions playing on their faces. The kid's features looked shocked that I had stood up for him, a small smile gracing his lips as he looked down at the ground, thankful. T-Bag's on the other hand were amused, he knew the problem I had with my injuries, and he knew exactly where they were, one hit to my side and I was back in the infirmary for another month, he began to move towards me, licking his lips.

"And maybe you're in no position to be telling me my business, Sweetpea." He threatened, backing me up against the concrete wall, his chest pressing into mine. I starred up into his eyes, each of us glaring at each other.

"And you're in no position to be telling hers either." Michael intervened, T-Bag huffed in response and turned around, only to come chest to chest with Michael who towered over him a good three inches. "Remember, I'm not the only one who knows you killed the CO." his voice was low, but low enough that I couldn't hear it.

The next few days were terrible for the kid, Tweener, as T-Bag had come to call him. Seems almost everyone in this prison got their nickname picked out by him. He didn't say much to me whenever we were around each other, probably embarrassed by the fact I had stuck up for him; a woman, sticking up for a man, in an all male prison…if that doesn't bring your ego down, then I don't know what will. He was diffidently Darnell reincarnated; their personalities were same, they always tried too hard to fit in. That's how Darnell had gotten killed, he wanted to fit in so badly that he joined one of the local gangs in his neighborhood; the rival gang got wind of it and made it a point to kill whoever that person was. I just wish Darnell had of come to be about it, told me something, my mom and I could have gotten him help. I walked next to T-Bag, much to my dismay keeping m y pace with them as Patterson led us to the Guard's room for PI. A line of inmates passes us, 'Tweener' tossed a small smile in my direction as he passed, no matter how many threats this kid got…he just couldn't get the smug chip off his shoulder. Once he noticed T-Bag his smile dropped, the skinny, menacing man chewing on his bottom lip as he fantasized about the younger man.

"What you so happy about?" I asked, it was obvious I knew the answer; I just felt like being a complete smart ass to T-Bag today. If he couldn't get the hint that the kid was off limits then I'd just have to let him know.

"Just the fact that I'm gonna be out in the real world here in a little bit. The fact that I'm gonna get one fine piece of tail certainly don't hurt either." He replied, looking me up and down as he bit his bottom lip. Sucre shoved me a little bit, pushing me ahead of him as he glared in T-Bag's direction. My heat beat against my chest as we entered the room, Patterson leaving us to do our job; I knew what was going to happen now. I had confided in Michael that Tweener was someone that didn't the same fate that Cherry did, the didn't press for anymore information, but he promise me he would see to it that Tweener wasn't touched. I guess he planned on doing it by beating T-Bag to death, by the time to door was shut Michael had already grabbed a led crowbar from the wheelbarrow and hit Bagwell in the shin with it, his body hitting the floor as he cursed. Michael looked at me, it was my turn. I didn't know how I was going to do this, even with other inmates around me; T-Bag intimidated and frightened me to no end.

"This is gonna stop." I warned, trying to be touch. He wasn't just some trouble youth that I could straighten out with some threats and counseling. He was a cold blooded killer, and he never let me forget it.

"I'm gonna sing like a whole tree full of birds now. Badge!" he yelled, my eyes widened. This was a terrible, terrible idea on my part. I probably just cost us everything we had worked for. Michael bent down; roughly grabbing T-Bag's cheeks in his hand as he turned his head, making him face all of us.

"You wanna sing? Then sing." Michael warned, a smirk gracing his lips. "But you know what I think. You don't have the guts." Michael continued. T-Bag scoffed in reply, appalled that Michael thought him less than a man. "You want out of here just as much as the rest of us." As if on cue, a CO walked in, Michael roughly let go of the man's chin and stood up, watching as T-Bag stammered out a lie in order to keep the CO from being suspicious; it worked.

"Now, you and I may be stuck in this little dance together," Michael explained, glancing at me, "But I call the shots." T-Bag trembled, "First shot, that kid out there, you don't touch him, ever." He ordered, I looked down at the ground as T-Bag looked a me, snickering.

"Oh, looks like ya' girlfriend's got a little fixin' for Tweena'" he groaned. Michael grabbed T-Bag by the collar with both hands, lifting him onto the tips of his toes, ignoring the offhand comment that was made.

"Do we understand each other?" he spat in his face; eyes glaring into the other man's with more cruelty than I've ever seen in one person. I didn't know if it was his comment that peeved Michael, or, if it was the fact that T-Bag just wasn't getting the hint. Michael wanted to protect Tweener just as much as I did. Just as Michael set T-Bag back down, another pair of footsteps could be heard clicking against the ground.

"Abruzzi," Bellick bellowed, standing and walking into the room; I held my breath as he walked straight towards the hole. This was it, I just knew it. To my surprise, nothing happened; he was practically standing in the hole right now. "You and me…we're gonna have a conversation."…

**Additional A/N: I apologize for Erica's Mary Sueness in this chapter. I deliberately made it this way; I wanted to show that prison is changing her. Thanks.**


	27. Aim for the Heart

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews and encouragement! This story is almost done :( I've had such a blast writing it! Hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving. **

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners. **

Needless to say; we were all pretty peeved when Bellick escorted us from the Guard's room. We all reluctantly dropped our tools and filed out one by one, each of us taking a glance back in the direction of the room. We hadn't realized it was because a new PI crew was taking over until we were escorted back into the yard. Several inmates walked past the fence, one of them wearing an eye patch, glared in Abruzzi's direction. I sighed out heavily, running a hand though my hair before tugging at it. Nothing was going the way Michael had planned, the other PI crew finding the hole was to be anticipated; once it was found I'd probably get fifteen more years added to my already lengthy sentence.

Just when I thought the day couldn't get any worse, some how it always found a way to. Westmorland was stretched out on the bottom bunk, his nose buried in the imaginary tale of some book he was reading; I'd read the synopsis on the back cover the day Patterson had brought it to him, it didn't seem very interesting to me. I was sitting at the small desk that was at the farthest end of the cell; too preoccupied with my writing; if I was getting out of here there was no use in requesting another notebook, I had begun to scrawl small sentences where I could fit them. Neither of us noticed the cell door slide open until we heard the sound of someone clearing their throat; I turned around in my chair eyeing Bellick up as he tapped his jimmy stick on the cell door; the faux metal bouncing off the bars, the sound echoing. Westmorland had looked up from his book at this point, glaring in Bellick's direction as he fixed his finger in-between the folds of the book, keeping his place. Bellick smirked as he placed his hands on either side of his belt, readjusting it so it rested atop the gut that seemed to have gotten bigger over the last month. He jerked his head in Westmorland's direction. "Pack your stuff up. Now." He bellowed, watching as the old man, stunned, slowly and suspiciously began to gather his belongs. I had slowly risen from the chair at this point, pushing the journal the every end of the table near the edge, if it fell on the floor it would fall behind the table; whoever was getting transferred in here wouldn't see it. That's what frightened me the most; not only was I getting a new cell mate, but, this cell mate would have no idea about the plan…Westmorland was the only other inmate who knew.

Once Westmorland had gathered his things and placed them in the plastic bin that was stored under the bed he turned to me staring at me with sympatric and apologizing eyes. I gave a small, and forced, reassuring smile; letting him know he didn't need to worry, secretly, I wanted him to. It wasn't a second later that Bellick pushed my new cellmate into the confined space, my mouth hung open, watching as the grin on the inmates face grew, the lopsided smile growing with each second that passed; he held the plastic tub in his hands tightly, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. I continued to stare as Bellick bellowed for the other CO to close the cell, I shivered as the metal hit the wall; I was licked in here with…

"T'sup, bon-bons." The kid smiled, jerking his chin in a greeting. I closed my eyes as I heard him slide the bin under the bottom bunk; they have got to be kidding me.

I tried to calm my nerves as I sat in the infirmary; I had deliberately asked, or like begged, Dr. Tancredi to check on my ribs; anything to keep me out of chow for a few extra minutes. That kid had talked none stop since he entered the cell earlier that morning; I had learned nothing valuable from him except that his name was David Apolskis and that he was good at the "bump and grab", I originally thought it was some foreign sex position until he explained it was his hobby, what he was good at; basically pick pocketing. Then he talked about stuff, I didn't even know how to explain it all, he just went on and on and on…like the energizer bunny. Dr. Tancredi waltzed in, setting a vase of flowers down on her desk, a smile plastered to her face. The aroma of honeysuckle and lavender filled the room, reminding me of what my mother's house smelled like all the time, from the time I was little I could remember each and every room in the house smelling like that; it was relaxing. She looked up at me as she shut the door behind her, setting the file down on the desk…I hadn't seen her this happy since I came here.

"Nice flowers," I commented, giving her a smile as I did so, "Are they from your boyfriend?" I could only assume that she had a life outside of treating prisoners, and whoever sent her these flowers probably didn't like it very much. She laughed nervously as she rearranged the flowers inside the blue vase before turning to me as she leaned up against the desk.

"No, no." she seemed bashful, I could see a hint of red coming to her cheeks, "They're just from someone very special to me." She answered, glancing in the direction of the flowers once again, a smile playing at her lips. Wow, I thought, they must really be if she keeps staring at it like that very person is going to jump from the petals.

"What's the occasion?" I probed, wanting to say in here longer; chow would be have been half-way though by now, I wouldn't have to worry about Apolskis bothering me. "I mean, if you don't mind me inquiring?" I corrected myself; I'd always been a nosey one. She looked down at the floor bashfully before she pushed herself away from the desk sticking her hands into her pockets as she shrugged her shoulders.

"It's my birthday." She divulged. I smiled and nodded my head in her direction, my hands falling into my lap.

"Oh, well, Happy Birthday." I said, wow, I couldn't image spending my birthday in a place like this, oh wait, looks like I will be spending at least fifteen or more of them in here.

"Thank you." She answered, before grabbing the file from the desk behind her. My eyes focused in on the flowers that sat in the vase, the smell wafting up my nose every time Sara strode past them; I couldn't shake that those were my mother's favorite flowers…what a coincidence. "Alright, Erica," she started, flipping though the manila folder as she handed me a Dixie cup full of the meds I had been taken, plus a Tylenol to dull the pain of my injuries. "Your ribs actually seem to be healing up quite nicely." My eyes lit up and I smiled, "but," she began again, raising a finger. "That does not mean you can do any heavy lifting got it?" she said sternly, looking down at me. I nodded in agreement, deciding not to tell her that I had already almost single handily taken most of the drywall out of that place. I slowly stood up from the exam table, seeing that Patterson was walking straight towards the exam room.

"Oh Erica," Dr. Tancredi called, halting me as I began my slowly strides towards the door. Patterson seemed to stop at the same time, one of the male nurses shoving a newspaper into his face as the both of them laughed; looking at the Sports Section, no doubt. I turned and looked at her raising my eyebrows slowly. "Look, I know they've got you in here for a long time," she began to explain, lacing her fingers with her other hand, like she was nervous, " But," she began again, "Once you get out of here, it's going to be hard for you…believe me. Everything is going to be so different." She looked down at the floor for a moment before looking back up at me, "It's going to be hard to cope." It sounded like she knew this from prior experience. "I know a woman, she's brilliant, and-and very understanding." She quickly waltzed over to the vase of flowers and pulled the sender card from the small stick that it rested on, holding the white paper in the palm of her hands. "She helped me though some-"she paused almost like the next words too hard for her to conjure up, "though some really tough times. Um, she works at the building on forty-second street near Oak Park," my breath hitched in my throat as she handed the card to me, a lump formed a second later at the familiar cursive writing that lined the perfectly white piece of cardboard. "Her name is Cassandra Jones." I could already feel my eyes brimming with tears as Patterson whistled from the door, his hand still on the knob as he poked his head in, I quickly wiped them away as I looked up at her, my bottom lip trembling.

"Thanks, Dr. Tancredi."

I kept looking at the small calling card shaped cardboard, running my fingers over the edges as I looked at the writing over and over again. _Someone very close to me._ I pushed Dr. Tancredi's words away as I continued to stare at the paper, running it thought my fingers like a magic lamp; if a genie popped out I knew exactly what I was wishing for. I remembered the numerous times my mother had attempted to teach me cursive writing, my father always thought it was a waste of time; he'd always use the argument 'by the time she's grown up checks are gonna be nonexistent, what the hell does she need to know cursive for other than to sign checks?' I always laughed when he said this; my mother would just stalk away, throwing down the cleaning cloth and retreating to her spot on the couch with a crossword puzzle. She'd grown up going to a catholic school where learning that type of writing was mandatory, that's the way she wanted me to be raised…but my father wouldn't have it. I hid the card back in my pocket as I hard footsteps approaching from behind me, I had misread the clock in the infirmary; there was still a good twenty-five minutes left of chow when I returned. I had lost my appetite and decided not to eat until dinner later that evening; I half expected the new person to be David, that's not what I needed right now to be honest, that was the last thing I wanted to have to deal with today. A sense of relief washed over me as Michael set is tray down on the other side of the table, taking a seat a moment after that. I looked up slowly, meeting his stare; he picked up his plastic fork and moved the pieces of food around for a moment.

"You're not eating?" he inquired, concerned. I shrugged my shoulders and took a deep breath before I set my hands down on the table, shaking my head slightly.

"I'm not hungry." I replied. He was like a damn parent I swear, dropping his fork down onto his tray he pushed his roll and milk towards me in an offering.

"If you don't eat, you won't be strong enough to get out of here." He explained, slowly placing a piece of what looked like meat into his mouth, he chewed it slowly, his eyes watching to see if I did the same to the food he had just given me. "Don't make me force feed you." He threatened, his blue orbs dancing with concern and anticipation. I starred at him blankly before picking up the roll and taking a bit, raising an eyebrow I looked at him.

"There, happy?" I shot back, my mouth full of food. He smiled slightly, his lips twitching, I guess so. No matter how much I didn't want to eat, I still finished the roll in record time and downed the milk quickly, just to satisfy him.

"So, have you figured out your plans for when we're out of here?" he asked lowly, looking around momentarily to see if anyone had been listening in on our conversation. I knitted my brows together; I had never thought that far ahead. I had no fucking idea what I was going to do, no, I didn't think I was going to be able to run back into the arms of my mother and pray to god that the cops believe my story…I just hadn't figured I'd need to think of a way to escape them once I was out in the real world.

"No." I answered, scratching my head; today was just one of those days where they're was too much to handle; the new cell mate, finding out the prison doctor probably means more to your mother than you did, not having a plan for when you break out of prison…I didn't know what else could go wrong. "I-I haven't really thought about that." I answered, looking down at my hands as I folded them atop the table.

"Is there any place you can go," he pressed, the tone of his seemed concerned enough; but his face, it looked almost as if he was afraid that I did have somewhere to go, somewhere away from him… "Any place at all?" I shook my head; I could go to Emily's…but I'm sure they'd have cars stationed outside her house; they'd expect me to go there.

"We'll figure something out." Michael reassured me just as the bell rang, signaling that chow was over. Something in his words didn't sit right with me…we'll figure it out.

**Emily Pov**

I sat on the couch, a half groan half sigh of relief rolled out of my throat as I pressed the bag of frozen peas to my ankle; a dark purple spot had begun to form where Lincoln Burrows Jr.'s rock rammed into me. I pressed the cell phone to my ear, wincing as I elevated my leg atop the pillows that rested under my foot. I didn't know if calling this person was going to make things better or worse, I dialed the number rapidly; popping a few Tylenols into my mouth and swallowing them dry just as a voice carried over the phone.

"Fox River State Penitentiary. This is Becky." The woman's squeaky and accented voice carried over the other line, I held the phone away from me raising my eye brows; don't sound so cheerful, Jesus, you work in a prison. I pressed the phone to my ear once again, gritting my teeth.

"Hi, Becky, this is Andrea Portis from Channel 11 news calling," I lied, putting on my best fake reporter façade, I had to admit, it was pretty damn good. "I called earlier this week about setting up a phone interview with Lincoln Burrows." I informed her, praying to god that she was one of those secretaries that never read the appointment books, the ones that sit there and gossip on the phone all day and pop their gum.

"Oh, okay, let me just check- just a moment." I held the phone away from me and silently growled as I sat up winching as my ankle began to throb again; I guess not. "Oh, here we are. You're boss…Arnold Fritz, set the appointment, right?" I was speechless, so there is a good; I held the phone to my heart and raised my hand in the air mouthing a 'thank you god' to the ceiling before regaining my posture and holding the phone to my ear.

"Yes m'am that's correct." I replied sweetly, my heart pounding in my chest. I figured that if my son was on the run, and I was locked up on death row…I'd like to know if he were okay; as always I never fully though things though, what ever popped into my head was usually done on a whim.

"Okay, I'm going to transfer the call to the operating room near the SHU; it'll just be a moment." And a moment it was, second later I heard heavy breathing on the other end of the line, my heart racked against my chest again; I suddenly wanted to hang up, too late though.

"Hello?" the gruff voice rang; it sounded like it fit the man who was speaking, very masculine and touch; I began to believe that this man didn't have s oft bone in his whole body.

"Hi, Mr. Burrows?" I asked, idiot, of course its Lincoln Burrows…who else would they have put on the phone. "I-I don't think we know-well, no we-we don't know each other." I stumbled over my words, rubbing my fingers against my temples as everything I had rehearsed flew out the window. "But," I stopped.

"What?" he asked, his voice sounding impatient, "Look you're just supposed to be interviewing me what's-"

"Your son." I suddenly blurted out, immediately wishing I could take it back. The other end of the phone was silent.

"What did you say?" he drawled out, his voice vile and menacing; I could picture the veins popping out of his head at this moment, his face red with angle, foaming at the mouth with hatred. "What about my son? Answer me-"

"I-I-I found him." I stuttered, my hearting beating so fast I could feel it in my throat.

"What are you talking about?" I was silent for a moment, furrowing my brows in confusion; what doe he mean 'what am I talking about', he had to have known. "Listen to be you son of a bitch, if you lay a hand on my son I swear to go-"I hung up the phone as his voice rose, closing it shut I held it against my chest as I tried to slow my breathing, my heart continued to beat rapidly. That was it; something was very wrong here…

**End Pov**

I didn't know who to expect when I got into visitation; my mother, Emily…those were the only two that could come visit me. I looked around as I entered the small room; it wasn't like the one I'd been in before, this one was full of people. A few actually had their families there, a little girl sat on her father's lap as he held her close rocking her back and forth, an old woman sat with another one, tears slipping down her face as she patted his hand…he seemed to crying as well. I noticed a man in a suit, very professional looking he was sitting near one of the only empty tables, the man across from him was stock still, a confused expression fixed upon his face, but, the table next to their wasn't empty; a girl occupied it, her blonde hair pulled into a tight pony tail, her shoulders covered with a dark blue sweatshirt. She seemed uncomfortable as she looked around the room. The man with the suit readjusted his tie, clearing his throat as he began to make conversation with the older looking gentleman. The woman's eyes lit us as she scanned over me; Emily jumped up from the table, waiting as the CO uncuffed me and sat me down at the concrete table.

"You got fifteen minutes." He informed us before he walked away. I got up from the table and embraced my best friend in a hug, this was the first time in two months that I felt loved, actually cared about. We retreated from each other a few moments later, each of us taking our places at separate ends of the table as she sighed out heavily, her brows furrowed as she finally realized the faint outline of my black eye that I had sustained. She covered her mouth with her hands.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" she whispered, concerned. I waved it off and nodded, clearing my throat.

"So-how-how is everyone. I mean, mom-"I asked, struggling to find the right words to say. Emily nodded, and I saw her wince slightly as she repositioned herself in the seat, swaying her hands to the side in a 'so-so' manner.

"She's hanging in there." She reassured me, bobbing her head up and down. I knitted my brows together; I had known this girl my whole entire life. She wasn't acting herself. I suddenly got the feeling that I was being watched, I figured it was just one of the CO's, that's what they got paid to do right? Turning my head I met the suit man's eyes momentarily before he quickly looked back towards the man he was sitting with; odd. "Um," she began to say, I quickly refocused my attention back on her; she twiddled her hands in front of her. "So, did you get any information about you know, Lincoln Burrows?" she asked, I looked at her with the classic 'you've got to be kidding me' stare; she comes here to visit me and all she can think about is him; it was like Richard Ramirez and all those love letters he got when he was in prison…it just didn't make an sense

"Yeah," I nodded my head, glancing at the clock, noticing that we didn't have very much time left. "He's innocent." I explained, she knitted her brows together and then scoffed, wincing slightly.

"Yeah, so is his son." My jaw hit the floor as I looked at her wide eyed like a bush baby, I didn't even-never mind that, how did she know he had a son and not me! I've been stuck in prison with this guy for almost two months now!

"What?" I whispered, I got the feeling I was being watching, again. Turning my head the suit man turned away quickly. I guess it was only natural for him to stare, I mean he was in a male prison, and I was a girl. But, the way he starred, it was with interest or astonishment…it was like he was spying. "What-What are you talking about?" she knitted her brows together.

"You didn't know? He's being charged with the double homicide of his mom and step dad. I found him down at the mini-mart down my Little Creek road a few days ago; threw a fucking rock at me. Screaming about how I'm one of them and that I should stay away from him or some shit like that." She explained all at once, taking a deep breath she sighed; I got that feeling again. "I don't know what's going on…but something's not right…with either of their crimes." I looked down at the table, trying to avoid the feeling that washed over me again, abruptly, the suit man got up; leaving the inmate confused as he put a pair of sunglasses on and left the room quickly. I starred after him confused by his actions. Emily was right…there was something wrong.

The hole was massive; that's the only way I could describe the colossal hole that was crafted in the middle of the floor. I rested my hand on my hip, halfway up my side as the rest of us surrounded the hole.

"We're through the hard part. Another eighteen inches, we'll hit that pipe." Michael explained. Sucre looked up at me with a wide grin, I smiled back, well, it was a forced smile, but a smile none the less. "Well be there by Friday." My heart leapt in my chest as I left a small surprised laugh emit from my throat.

"Friday?" I laughed, it seemed that he had only started digging this hole a few weeks ago; I couldn't believe this was all happening so fast. I mean, yes, two months was a long time in here; I just couldn't believe that by this Friday, I was going to be free, well, somewhat in the sense. I would right that book, get it published, then sue the britches off Fox River, then, I'd take a long well earned vacation to New Zealand and then comeback as a hired writer at the Chicago times; hell, maybe they'd even make a Lifetime movie about my brave sacrifice.

"Better start making travel arrangements." Michael smiled up at me, his face happy, but, his eyes telling a different story as he remembered that conversation at lunch. I nodded as I gripped his hand, helping him up from the floor. Friday; I'd miss him…I took my spot back by the wall and slowly began to peel the drywall away; Sucre was singing to himself in Spanish, while Abruzzi just smiled, it was odd seeing him do that.

"Where are we doing?" I heard Lincoln ask; I had wanted to ask him about his son, but, in my better judgment I decided not to press the issue. If he really wanted us to know he would have told us, but I had noticed he was acting a little strange during PI, like something had his stomach in a twist and heart in a knot.

"Panama." I heard Michael say lowly, he whispered as if he didn't want the rest of us to hear his destination. My stomach knotted together, I stopped stripping the drywall and looked behind me just in time to see him smile at Lincoln. I couldn't be upset about this; I should have known that once I was out of here I was never going to see the rest of these people ever again. There was suddenly a knock at the door; T-Bag poked his head in, informing us that a CO was on their way. We quickly regained out postures and wiped the remaining smiles and smirks from our faces as Bellick entered the room; a semi-heavy set, short, black man walked behind me, a smug look on his face.

"This con says he's on the job in here." Bellick informed us. I looked around the room, knitted my brows together slightly. Abruzzi was the first to speak, shaking his head.

"No, I don't think so." He replied. Bellick looked back at the new inmate and raised and eyebrow, harshly grabbing him by the arm and pulling him towards the door; the inmate resisted.

"CO, hold on. One second." The inmate argued turning and walking towards us, the smug look returning as he stopped right on top of the hole. I held my breath; he knew. "Now, you sure about that?" he asked, glancing down at the spot he stood on, tapping his foot against the wooden plaque that Michael had covered it up with, it creaked. "Are you sure you can't use the extra hand?" I could see Michael getting frustrated as he ran his hands over his head.

"You know anything about construction?" Abruzzi asked.

"Concrete is my specialty." The con answered smugly, glancing at all of us. "Can you dig it?" I was surprised when Michael gave the okay for Abruzzi to sign him up for PI, I could already see this plan was falling through again. Friday or not, looks like would have to take this one with us too.

**Dr. Tancredi Pov**

I checked myself in the mirror again, making sure that the red curls were perfectly in place as I applied a bit of color to my lips. Ms. Jones had called and said she wanted me to join her for dinner, in celebration of my birthday. I had originally intended on asking my father to join me in town for a little while; it had been a while since we had done anything together. He decline; I knew he was a busy man. He encouraged me to take up Cassandra's offer, saying that maybe the reason why she wanted me there was to meet her daughter. I had heard a lot about her, mostly from my father who thought that we would become fast friends. I locked the car as I got out and walked up the small stone steps leading onto the front porch; honey suckles and pots of lavender decorated the small cottage like house, making it seem like it was just out of a fairy tale. Smiling I rang door bell, and a moment later I was greeted by her smiling face. She pulled me into the house quickly; tell me I would catch my death out in the cold wind. I smiled and dropped my coat off at the front door before continuing though the small house. I could already smell the salmon cooking in the oven, the smell of fresh homemade garlic break seeped up my nose.

"I'm sorry my father couldn't join us tonight. He had a lot of work to get done." I explained she smiled at me as she set the table that was in the room that joined the kitchen and living room together; I glanced around, notching that there were no pictures of her said daughter anywhere.

"Oh, that's alright dear." She seemed a little nervous for some reason; her fingers shook as she set the silverware down on the table. "I spoke to him about it earlier today." Something dinged in the kitchen, "Oh," she laughed nervously, "Don't want that cherry pie to burn. I'll be just a second." She reassured me before rushing off to the kitchen again. I smiled; she reminded me a lot of my mother. My mother died when I was wrong, leaving me with my dad, whom I might add was never home very much; Ms. Jones had become a second mother to me thought my years of counseling for my drug addiction.

"Take your time." I called into the room. My nosey side got the best of me, and I began to roam the living room; picking up trinkets here and there and examining them. I saw pictures of her and her husband…but no daughter. Coming to one at the end of the mantle I stopped, breath catching in my throat as I picked it up from the mantle. I covered my hand with my mouth as I abruptly set the picture back down onto the white face of the mantle, I couldn't believe it; Erica Boswell was her daughter…

**Additional A/N: Ta-da! It's so sad that this is coming to an end soon. Anyways, if you can identify the 'suit-man' in this chapter you will forever be regarded as the smartest person on the planet I'll give you a hint: his name starts with a 'K'. Uh-oh, now that Sara knows who Erica is what will happen?**


	28. Swing low, Sweet Chariot

**A/N: Millie55; congratulations for figuring out the 'suit-man' in the last chapter, I know I made it too easy :p Thanks for all the reviews/subscriptions/favorites; it really means a lot. I hope Erica's plot isn't too hard to follow. **

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners. **

**Kellerman 'Suit-man' Pov**

Paul Kellerman paced inside the small motel room; the uncomfortable bed sagged as he sat down, the sheets were colored an off pink, almost matching the salmon colored wall paper that slowly peeled, revealing the dirty and rotted wood that lay underneath. Straightening out his suit he produced a small black cell phone from his pocket; he needed to report what he had learned back to Caroline, it could potentially jeopardize everything they had worked for. He waited until the other line clicked, signaling that someone had picked up the phone.

"You better have good news for me, Paul." Her voice seethed, he looked at the bedside clock; 10:30…he must have ruined the bed time ritual. I was silent for a moment.

"Afraid not." he answered, standing up he walked over to the window, opening the curtains just enough to peek out of the dirty windows he glanced at the group of people that had gathered outside of the motel; he probably could have picked a better spot to stay, seeing as he was on their turf.

"What do you mean 'afraid not', Paul? That's your job remember?" he clenched his fist around the small object before barring his teeth, putting it back to his ear.

"We're not the only people that know," I paused, "About LJ and Burrows." I informed her, all was silent on the other end of the line. "Somehow a girl got herself locked up in Fox River, she and another one were talking about Burrows; they know something's up."

"Who were they?" she spat, "I mean, I only assume that you ran background checks on both of them, am I right?"

"Of course I did." He answered, sighing out heavily. She always took him for granted. "The inmate, Erica Boswell, goes to Chicago University," he paused as he walked back over to the ratty on dresser, pulling an old edition of the _University Times_ out from under his black jacket; glancing at the front page he smirked. "She doesn't seem to like you very much." He could hear Caroline scoff on the other end of the phone.

"That bitch that wrote that article about me?" she mused, a wicked laugh flowing though the phone, sending a shiver up his spine. "What the hell does she want with Burrows?"

"I take it you read the article," he observed, upon hearing no reply he cleared his throat, closing the curtains. "I don't know, but, it may have to do with his sentence. I heard him say something about him being innocent; her friend seemed to think so as well." Caroline yawned on the other line, signaling that she was bored with the information Paul had gotten her.

"What about the other girl, the friend? Did you run a check on her?" she inquired. He mentally cursed himself.

"No, no I didn't." he regretted answering her after that.

"Then do it, I wanna know who she is, and what she has to do with Burrows. Then if you have to…get rid of her; infact, get rid of both of them."

**End Pov**

I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong; the past couple of days Dr. Tancredi acted strange around me, I guess it didn't help that I acted equally as awkward towards her. It was just too much to handle though, how many times had I seen her when I visited my mom at the AA meetings? Seriously, when I thought about it was too much to handle, and not the mention that the second I was out of the infirmary I was either escorted to yard or back to my cell; I wear a punishment in the prison system could have to be getting stuck in a cell with David 'Tweener' Apolskis. All he did was rap about "bitches, money, and getting' that dope", and he wasn't even good; it provided for some much needed entertainment thought, he was like the little brother I never had. That was another thing that probably contributed to how immature he acted; I had learned that he was only eighteen years old, that's six years young than me. I couldn't believe someone so young was in a place like this.

"Okay, let's rotate." Abruzzi ordered, talking me away from my thoughts. T-Bag and I had been oh so diligently working on sand papering the walls; it always looked so easy on television, let me tell you, it isn't. The new inmate, C-Note, had been digging the hole for some time now; Michael thought it would be a good idea for us to rotate digging and working on the room, unfortunately, I wasn't allowed to dig. "Doctors Orders" as Michael had said; Abruzzi always looked at me funny, always encouraging me to keep up the 'good work', I knew he said that because that was the only way I was getting out of here.

"Sergeant Sodomy, you're up next." Abruzzi called; T-Bag stopped sandpapering the walls, a grim look on his face. I stifled at laugh at the nickname Abruzzi had given him; I had learned very early on that those two hated each other.

"Somethin' funny, Sweetpea." T-Bag glared in my direction, my smile immediately faded and I rolled my eyes, returning my attention to the wall once again. Someone's sensitive; I heard Michael chuckle from beside me; I glanced up giving me a small smile. I guess it was safe to say that I had taken a liking to Michael, not just the liking where you admire someone, but the liking where you know…you have feelings for them? That's the only way I could describe it.

"I don't know about you all," I turned my head, glancing in the direction of Bagwell's voice as he pulled C-Note up from the hole, a disgusted look on his face; it wasn't news to us that he was a racist. "But this room is gettin' a little too dark for me to dig." He concluded, taking a glance in my direction as he wiped his lip; I rolled my eyes, I had never been affected by the racist remarks that had been thrown my way my whole life, it wasn't like they called me 'nigger' or 'tar baby' on a regular basis. You mom was white, and my father was African American, instead in got called a 'creamy' 'Oreo' I'd even been called a 'zebra'.

"Are you telling me there's a hole in Fox River that you don't want to get into?" C-Note retorted, I stopped sanding the wall and turned around, seeing the vile look cross over T-Bag's face as she stepped closer to C-Note, instigating a fight. Lincoln pulled them apart quickly, stopping the arguing with a single growl from his throat. I look over at Michael, who just continued with his work, ignoring the whole thing. C-Note was a snotty, little man that complained about everything; he's lucky Michael even let him in here. All he seemed to complain about was how much work they did while Abruzzi and I 'sat around doing nothing', I glared at him when I accused me of laziness, I shouldn't have to justify myself. Sucre suddenly ran in, eyes wide.

"CO's coming. Hurry up." We scatted like roaches, scrambling around I finally was able to help move the table on top of the hole, I felt accomplished. A second later, CO Campbell walked into the room, his eyes nothing our progress; he seemed impressed.

"Scofield, move it." He ordered, "It's time for your conjugal." Michael's eyes widened, I knitted my brows together as I looked up at him slowly. His eyes met mine for a second, a look of regret and anticipation both filling the blue orbs to the brim. "Your wife is here." It was almost as if my face couldn't move, I stood there still as a statue as he looked at me; a long sigh escaped his lips and he closed his eyes momentarily before stalking after the CO. My jaw clenched, my heart twisted in a knot, and I felt sick to my stomach.

**Emily Pov**

I limped though the frozen food section, resting my body against the cart as I slowly propelled it towards the frozen pizzas. I was in no mood, nor any condition to sand around at the stove waiting for something to finish. I hobbled over to the glass case and opened it wide, shivering as the cold, icy wind blasted me. Shivering I reached forward; grasping _Fresheta: Supreme/Meat lovers_, it probably wasn't the healthiest thing I could be eating. Suddenly a paper caught my eye, noticing the frost that was building up on the edges I shut the glass door and starred at it. It was a picture of Lincoln Burrows Jr. and it was a wanted poster; the same number I had written down on a pad of paper at home rested at the bottom of the page. Raising an eyebrow and sighing I turned away from the rows and rows of frozen pre-made food; pushing my purse up onto my shoulder more.

"Oh god, I'm so sorry." The man cursed himself as he bumped into me; I mean how fast was this guy going anyway? I gritted my teeth and turned around as I heard the sound of several of my cards hitting the tiled flooring. Jesus, this wasn't a fucking freeway, contrary to popular believe there is actually a speed limit in a grocery store. The man was already bent over, picking the cards up from the ground hastily, laughing to himself nervously.

"I'm really sorry, god- I should really look where I'm going." He scolded himself, despite the pain in my ankle I bent down as well, seeing that three of my credit cards had fallen out, for all I knew he could be one of those hackers.

"Yeah, you should." I mumbled, half hoping that he heard me. He stood up just as I did, handing me the stack of cards he had just picked up from the floor; I didn't bother to count them, seeing as my ankle was probably swelling. I needed Tylenol, now.

"I'm really sorry," he apologized again, a goofy smile playing on his face.

"It's fine, really." I reassured him, giving him a sarcastic grin and turning the cart around painfully, wincing as the wheels scraped against the floor.

"It's just that-my girlfriend is coming over for dinner in an, "I turned around as he checked his watch, a look of panic appearing. "Oh shit, in like twenty minutes." He laughed nervously; then go, I wanted to say, be gone.

"Yeah, good luck with that." I raised an eyebrow painfully and continued to push the cart towards the check out counter.

**End Pov**

He's married, he's married…he's fucking married. I slammed the hammer against the nail in the wall as the thought replayed in my head. Of course he's married, look at him! I placed another nail in the hole before beating the metal head against it, gritting my teeth and cursing as I missed the nail and slammed it against my finger; I threw the hammer down, onto the ground. T-Bag's rendition of 'Swing low, sweet chariot' suddenly silenced, I placed my finger in my mouth, sucking on the already swelling tip of my pointer finger. Why was I so upset? I could tell you why, Dammit, I'd fallen for someone…in prison, prison! I heard T-Bag chuckle from his spot in the hole.

"Aw. What's wrong, Sweetpea?" he cooed, "You don' like my singin' voice?" he inquired, a smug smile gracing his lips as she began to sing again, this time chuckling, he turned swiftly and handed C-Note a bucket of concrete before turning back to me, a smirked playing' on his lips. "No, no. It's because you got played, right? Am I right Sweetpea? Scofield's been playin' ya, darlin'." I screwed up my nose in disgust as I ripped the hammer up from the ground, ignoring the inmates knowing glances as I continued on with my work; this wasn't high school, I could handle it.

"Aw, Sweetpea, don't be like that." He sang again, he better say in that hole if he knows what's good for him, "What? You jealous cause' it ain't you that Scofield is in there with. Fellin' ya up left and right, sayin' your name-"

"T-Bag, shut the hell up!" Lincoln yelled. I pushed the lump down in my throat as I felt the tears burning at the back of my eyes. Of course that's not what I was jealous about; I mean at least not that part of it anyway. Yes, I was upset that Michael was taken already; I guess you really can't trust everyone in here. It pained me to know that I hand trusted him, hell, he was the kind of guy I always wanted to bring home to my parents, settle down with, start a family…I laughed at my thoughts, like there was any chance of me having a normal life after this anyway. T-Bag chuckled before he began to hum to himself, finishing off the song he had been belting out.

"Chill, sink," he answered, "I'm just curious as to if Sweetpea really expected to jus' ride off into the sunset with Pretty and leave all this behind." He said in a dreamy voice, imitating what maybe a twelve year old girl would dream about. I clenched my hand tighter around the hammer, my knuckles turning white as I tried to keep my anger from rising. After a few moments, T-Bag began to sing again, his voice becoming for frustrated as he realized that no one else was singing along with him. "Come on, give me something. I thought you was a musical people?" he asked, his voice rising as he referred to C-Note and I. I clenched my jaw together, and took a deep breath as I turned around. "Come on, Sweetpea; sing me a little 'Halleluiah. Praise the lord!'" he chuckled; He really thought he was funny.

Clenching my jaw together I let out a dry laugh, holding the hammer down by my side as I walked towards the hole, trying to calm my breathing. I never lost my temper so easily until I got here, it wasn't something I wasn't proud of it; I also wasn't prone to being such a smart ass, another thing that you learn in prison, sometimes it can get you out of trouble, while other times it can land you in the deepest shit you've ever been in.

"You know," I began, my heart beating against my chest, "Your parents must be so proud of you." I laughed dryly again, "I mean, you hit the trailer park trifecta." I continued, he glared up at me; running his tongue over his bottom lip slowly. "You're a racist, a pedophile, and stupid." I turned away from him as he starred at me, astounded by my audacity to stand up to him, especially with a smart mouth like that. I didn't feel good about it either, I didn't take pride in tearing someone down; my mother and father had instilled in me to never cross judgments, always give someone benefit of the doubt…even if they were like T-Bag. If my mother could see him, and really evaluate him she'd probably come to his defense, saying, 'He's a lost cause; probably neglected or treated horribly at a young age. Poor thing.' My mother was always too nice to people.

"Ya' know, Sweetpea. A sharp tongue is the quickest way to cut your throat." The words were harmless enough, and true, but the underlying meaning was something I'm sure everyone understood. I turned and looked at him as he began to lift himself up from the hole, glaring at me. I starred back, holding the hammer down by my side; I knew he wouldn't try anything with the rest of them in the room. "And you," he turned his attention to C-Note and the rest of them, "Rughead, it vexes me that I'm made out to be the bad guy in the room. It's not like ya'll are incarcerated for stealing Girl Scout cookies."

"None of us murdered any Girl Scouts in the process." Abruzzi retorted. As much as I wanted to laugh at the comeback Abruzzi had so cleverly come up with, Sucre burst into the room; a smile on his face.

"Michael's coming back from the boneyard." He exclaimed.

**Kellerman Pov**

Paul watched from the glass windows of the grocery mart as Emily's car pulled out of sight, the taillights fading into the distance. Ignoring the old woman that was begging for his help with a few groceries he walked out of the store, empty handed? Not even close, as he got into the car he pulled a driver's license from his pocket; his eyes traveled over the picture of the young girl, studying everything about her. Looking both ways, checking to make sure no one was coming, he pulled a laptop from under the passenger seat; booting it up, he went into the very detailed and very protected system the computer had been loaded with. Typing in the information that was on the Chicago issued license he accessed her record.

He couldn't believe that he had been so fortune in actually staking out her house; he knew he was good, but he didn't know he was that good. How did he do it? He figured that Erica and the other woman would live around the same vicinity, oh how right he was.

"Emily Wiklund"

**End Pov**

I held my breath as Michael entered the room; he seemed calm, almost too calm. I kept my eyes trained down at the floor as I heard Sucre grill him for information, normal guy talk; they just wanted to know everything about each other's girlfriends. Feeling uncomfortable I glanced up, my eyes hard and weary as I glared, yes I said glared, at Michael. It wasn't the fact he was married that angered me; it was the fact that he didn't tell me.

"Later." He answered Sucre, his eyes glancing in my direction; he looked like he wanted to tell me something, like he needed me to know. Know what, I'm pretty sure it was self explanatory. I turned around ignoring his presence as he walked towards the hole, bending down he examined the progress that had been made while he was…out. I continued with my work at the wall, slowly hammering nails into the wood that was holding the structure.

"Rough day huh, Scofield?" C-Note asked, jealousy held in his voice. "While the rest of us are in here singling concrete, you got some little girl in to play your rusty trombone, huh?" I couldn't take it any longer, I threw the hammer down onto the ground, pulling the black gloves off with much force I threw them down afterwards, and stormed towards the blue door; it wasn't like I could get very far, but just as long as I wasn't in here I was fine.

"Erica-"I heard Michael's voice call. I threw my hands up as I reached the handle, pulling it open slightly; just enough that the cold wind hit my face.

"Someone needs to keep watch." I spat over my shoulder as I opened it up, I heard the other inmates gasp in concern rushing to cover up the hole just in case any of the guards were out there.

"I'll do it." Michael offered his voice guilty. I turned around shaking my head as I pressed a hand to his chest momentarily, quickly pulling it away as I felt the sharp electric parks emitting from my fingertips.

"No, you might still be a little to distracted." I spat, glaring at him. I could feel the tears burning at the back of my eyes as I threw the door open, shutting it quickly as I grabbed the clipboard from the stack of boxes that were outside the door. I didn't expect to have any company until I felt the wind from the door open; I already had a pretty good idea of who it was.

"Erica, let me explain." Michael pleaded. I turned around, jaw clenched as I faced him. I nodded my head quickly, a dry laugh emitting from deep in my throat.

"Yeah, please do." I snapped, glaring at him. I placed my hands on my hips as he ran his hands over his head, frustrated and upset. This was like a soap opera; and I was the other woman.

"Look, it's not what you think-"he began to explain. I'd seen this before, this is what every man said, and it universally translated into 'I didn't think you'd find out.'

"'Not what you think'" I snapped, "Michael, you're married. You-you couldn't tell me that. I mean- oh god, I told you everything. Everything." I raised my voice; like they said, hell hath no fury like a woman's scorned.

"Listen. Look, I didn't mean to lie to you." He explained, reaching out to take my shoulders in his hands. I brushed him off pacing back and forth, trying to slow my breathing as she pain in my side returned.

"Right," I scoffed, "Just like you didn't tell me that Bob was killed? Huh, or-or like you didn't tell me that Lincoln Burrows is your brother, or-or the fact that Lincoln has a son? You didn't think to tell me that?" his expression turned from frustrated to surprised, looking straight into my eyes.

"How do you know about LJ?" he asked. I shrugged, shaking my head at his excuses. I really shouldn't have been acting like this. But, seriously, if you found out someone you were interested in was married, wouldn't you be a little upset, too? Ignoring his question I looked down at the ground. "Erica. This is all part of the plan." Michael explained his voice soft as he his fingers forced my chin to look up at him. "I'm not really married." I ripped out of his grasp, scoffing, why couldn't he just tell me the truth.

"Right, Michael, right." I seethed, "So was I part of the plan too, huh? Were you going to-to- hold me hostage once you all broke out? Threaten to kill me if they didn't let you guys go free?" I accused. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath threw his nose a she pinched the bridge, frustrated, again. He looked at me and shook his head.

"I married her as in exchange for something; Green card for a credit card." He explained, I looked up, not sure if I was hearing things right or not. I knitted my brows together, immediately feeling terrible for accusing him of, well, I don't even know what. I closed my eyes and sighed, looking up at him. I could feel my cheeks burning with embarrassment.

"Oh, Michael-I'm-I'm, god." I scolded myself, too embarrassed by my own behavior to even look him in the eye. He smirked slightly. "I'm so sorry, I – I didn't-"How do you even begin to apologize for something like that.

"It's okay. You're forgiven." He smiled.

**Emily Pov**

I cursed to myself as saw the blue and red lights of the Chicago PD in the review window; my ankle was on fire, my pizza was getting too warm and would soggy from the ice melting around it if I didn't get it in the oven soon. Another reason I was so extremely upset about seeing those patriotic lights was simple enough, I hated the cops. Most of them in Chicago were some of the crocked bastards I'd never met in my life. I pulled over to the shoulder and put my car in park as the cop pulled up behind me; a skinny man got out from the car, carrying a pad and a pen with him.

"License and registration, m'am" he ordered, showing a row of crocked teeth; good, matched his job perfectly. I rolled my eyes and reached over into the passenger seat, my hands digging in the glove compartment and pulling out the crumpled up white piece of paper before I set it down on my lap, rummaging for my license.

"What is this for anyway?" I pressed, knitting my brow together as I searched for my card; I never leave the house without it. "I'm almost sure my tags haven't expired." Probably just needed to reach his quota for the month.

"I just need your license and registration." He repeated, I sighed angrily as I continued to look for my license, I know it was in here; I always put it in between the Visa card and my Discovery…my blood ran cold; remembering the man from the grocery store.

"Left em' at home?" the officer asked, shinning the flashlight in my face. I nodded my head too shocked for words as I held up the registration for him to take; he took it roughly from my hand.

"Yeah, it seems I did." I heard his bots crunch against the gravel as he walked away; reassuring me that he would be right back. "Son of a bitch." I whispered, that guy wasn't fixing dinner for his girlfriend.

**End Pov**

"I'm gonna kill him, Michael. I'm gonna kill him." I said to myself as I walked next to Michael in the yard. Things were still awkward between the two of us, but not so much that we didn't talk…I just didn't know if I could trust him like I thought I could. He laughed and cracked me a smile as I continued to vent about David; the kid never shut up, all day, all night he talked. Yap, Yap, Yap…his voice actually put me to sleep. It was never boring though, I just didn't want to hear it all the time.

"Who did you get stuck with again?" he asked, shoving his hands into his pockets; his arm bumping against mine slightly, I smirked. That was our little way of 'flirting', if you could believe it.

"David Apolskis." I re-informed him, squinting my eyes from the sun as we walked along the fence.

"What's he in for?" he inquired, is strides slowing slightly, in order to match my slow pace. I shrugged my shoulders and let a sigh escape my lips.

"All I know is that he did the 'bump and swipe'," Michael furrowed his brows together, confused. "Pick pocketed in other words." He looked at me strangely and I shrugged again. I thought it was odd to be put in here for something as small as that too.

"Yo' bon-bons." I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth together as I heard that annoying voice coming from beside me. I groaned as I look in the direction of the voice. David, dressed in sweatpants and sweatshirt, bounded over to the two of us, his pants barely staying above his hips. "Wat's crackin' shottie?" he inquired, smiling as he looked at me. I returned the smile as I playfully punched me in the arm. Michael stood beside me, trying to keep the smirk off his face, holding the laugh in.

"Michael, this is David." I introduced them, he gave him a short nod of his chin in Michael's direction, greeting him; when we continued to walk he followed.

"I seen you before, right?" he asked, glancing at me; I raised my eyebrows. "You part of dat' PI crew, with her." He motioned to me, grabbing my shoulders and shaking me slightly. He was a very, very hands on person. "Maybe you can hook me up." He motioned to himself, smiling. "You know, brother needs to make some green, some cash-eesh. You know what I'm sayin?" he inquired. He must have thought we were living the high life. I laughed and patted David on the back, shaking him slightly.

"David, it only pays nineteen cents an hour." I informed him, still laughing. He must have thought we got loads and loads of cash do that type of work. He looked over at me, his smile dropping immediately.

"Nineteen cents? That's slavery, yo." He retorted.

"That's prison, yo." Michael answered; I couldn't shake the tension that was forming between the two of them, almost like they were competing for something. "Besides, PI is full for now." David looked at me, shrugging his shoulders; I could see he was upset.

"All right. I feel you. But keep a brutha' in mind, ya' know, if somethin' opens up, yo." He just wanted to fit in, I looked up at Michael; contemplating on whether or not I should press the issue, he'd never allow it. "Hell, I'll pay nineteen cents an hour to get me some more time outta' the block." He smiled before giving Michael that really weird gangsta good bye, you know, the one where they hit their chest like a monkey and then give the piece sign. "See ya' latter, Bon-bons." He gripped my hand for a moment, quickly letting go as he joined the group of inmates retreating back into block. The tension didn't stop there.

"I can see why my mother never had any more children." I sighed.

I didn't think anything of it when I saw Michael talking to David the next day, either they were going to be become friends or, it really wasn't any of my business anyway. I made my way from the chow line and sat down at one of the first empty tables I could find, I moved the pieces of food around with my fork; not really wanting to eat the 'mystery meat' or the Brussels sprouts, I decided I'd eat the mashed potatoes instead. We had only been sitting at the table for a few minutes; it was weird. David was unsettlingly quite, he hadn't said a word to me since this morning, and I was worried that Michael might have said something to him.

"David, are you alright?" I asked, swallowing a bit of potatoes before taking a drink of milk. He looked up at me, a goofy smile spreading across his face.

"I'm chill." He answered, downing the rest of his milk before he slammed the empty carton back down on the table, I nodded an 'okay', deciding that maybe he'd gotten the hint that he could be a little overwhelming at times. I continued with my food, not really looking up from my tray until I heard the sound of gagging. I looked up slowly, gasping. David's eyes had rolled into the back of his head, his body shaking as he fell from the stool.

"Oh my god! David!" I yelled as I rushed around to the other side of the table, kneeling down next to him I placed my hand on his shoulders; trying to stop him from shaking. Inmates had already begun to gather around the scene, mumbling to themselves. I tried to hold his head still, knowing that he would almost kill himself if it was seizure. It wasn't a second later that CO's were dragging him towards the door leading to the infirmary. I stayed on the floor, kneeling as I watched them disappear, eyes wide.

**Additional A/N: It's almost done. Sorry if Kellerman is a little OOC; I don't think I'm very good with his character. **


	29. Conspiracy

**A/N: I apologize for getting this out so late. I've had a really really really busy week. But, the weekend is finally here! Only seven more updates on this fic until the sequel! There is also a poll on my page; so if you'd like, please check that out. **

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners. **

I was impatient as I waited for David to return to our cell. That event was the only thing that had haunted my mind since earlier that day; it wasn't normal. I mean, once second he was fine and the next he was laid out on the ground flopping around like a fish out of water. It scared me; I was scared for. Him, it was only an hour later when he arrived back at our cell, completely fine. I pressed the issue asking what happened, asking if he was going to be okay; he just shrugged his shoulders and smiled, telling me to 'chill, he was okay' or 'the doc said it was nothin' I found that very hard to believe. After thinking it though, I knew Michael had something to do with it…I just didn't know what.

"What are you gonna do, ya' know, when you get outta here, _mami_?" Sucre asked, a smile gracing his lips as he began to shift though the tools that were in the wheelbarrow. I smiled in his direction, I didn't even know which day of the week it was, it was hard to keep track of stuff like that in here; but I was as excited and nervous as ever.

"I'm probably gonna sue the pants off this prison." I answered, chuckling slightly, shrugging as I set a small hammer down on the wooden table. "Then I'm taking a very, very, very long vacation." I cocked my head to side and watched as he took a few more tools into his hands. "What about you?" I'm pretty sure I already knew the answer to that question; it's all he ever talked about. Maricruz and his baby, it was quite adorable.

"First, I'm gonna see my girl; I just- I just can't believe it's really happening." I could hear the excitement rising in every syllable; I wasn't going to admit it out loud…but I was going to miss these guys after we were all out of here, well at least Sucre and Michael, and Westmorland…maybe even David, can't really say the same for Abruzzi, Lincoln and T-Bag though. Suddenly, a sense of tension filled the room, Sucre and I both glanced towards the door as Michael stepped though, Lincoln and C-Not following close behind him; that's another guy I wasn't going to miss. I couldn't help by feel uneasy as I noticed the expressions that crossed their faces; Michael looked distressed as he ran his hands over his beanie clad head; it was starting to get colder every day. Something was wrong; another set back, perhaps?

"Apparently, college boy here did the math." C-Note began to explain, a smug look on his face. Michael looked over at me with sorrow filled eyes as the other con continued talking, "Figured out we got too many clowns in the car." I took a deep breath and sighed out, of course, how were you supposed to sneak seven convicts out in a set amount of time. "So one of us is in here digging, but their seat ain't guaranteed." The tension in the room mounted all of us thinking the same thing; it could be any one of us. Abruzzi looked in my direction, throwing his tool down on the ground, I was odd one out, and I could feel the fear rising in me. Of course, I didn't pull my weight, so I couldn't go.

"How is this your problem, man?" Lincoln retorted loudly, standing stock still as his chest rose and fell with anger. I tapped my foot on the floor, crossing my arms over my chest as I tried to think of anything to argue my defense; I came up with nothing, I hadn't dug a single foot since I stepped in this room.

"He doesn't know what he's talking about." Michael reassured us, glancing in my direction slightly as he ran his hands of his head, throwing the navy blue beanie down onto the floor.

"Look, I'm not gonna dig if I'm not gonna go." Sucre announced, throwing the metal hammers down onto the ground in rage.

"We need to make a decision on who gets cut." Lincoln suggested, I closed my eyes momentarily, my stomaching turning in knots as C-Note, Abruzzi, and Sucre all looked in direction; all thinking the same thing.

"I think we can all agree who that should be, right?" he asked, stalking in my direction; I looked down at the ground, my eyes brimming with tears, I quickly wiped them away. This was it; I should have known it would come to this eventually. As if on cue the door suddenly opened, revealing T-Bag's small frame in the door way. I glanced in is direction, a smug grin appearing on his face as Abruzzi glared in his direction, I looked up at him, now realizing it wasn't me he was referring to.

"Pardon me for interruptin'" he apologized with a sarcastic smirk, closing the door behind him as he walked into the room more. "What's that smell?" his nostrils flared as he sniffed the air momentarily. "It smells a little like conspiracy." He looked straight at me as he said this, almost like he was directing the statement towards me, warning me of something; almost like he was telling me I wasn't the conspirer, but they were conspiring against me, against both of us. I couldn't deny the way my stomach twisted as this point in time, maybe he was right, maybe Abruzzi was directing the quote towards the two of us; maybe both of us were getting left behind.

"We need to get back to work." Michael interrupted my train of thought, pulling T-Bag and I out of our metal exchange of information. I looked down at the ground, my lips pushing in a straight line; Michael wouldn't leave me behind…would he?

"Yeah, well before ya' do, I have an announcement to make." T-Bag announced, his voice menacing and somewhat dignified as he stood at the front of the room; looking as if he had prepared a valiant speech. "I've been growin' leery of the way ya'll talk, like I'm a lesser man." He began, shoving his hands into his pockets, "So I bought an insurance policy. I called up my guy on the outside and told him about 'our' plan. And I told him in all likelihood I'll be seeing him next week." His eyes shifted around the room, studying each of us as he smiled slightly; accomplished with his work. "But, if he don't hear from me five minutes before the escape and twenty minutes after, I told him to call up the Warden, blow the whistle on this whole thing." I ran my hands down my face and looked down at the ground shaking my head slightly, "So, if ya'll got any ideas about getting' rid of me, I suggest you make other plans."

All of us wore solemn faces of expression as the guards led us from the guard's room, our PI work for the day nearly over. Usually I would have walked with Michael and Lincoln, not today. Just when everything was starting to fall into place, it seemed to fall the other way, laughing in our faces; perhaps this just wasn't meant to be, any of this. I was one of the last ones out of the room, Sucre and C-Note walking beside me.

"The odd ones out," C-Note observed, shoving his hands into his pockets as he glanced over at Sucre and I, "The three of us."

"What do you mean?" I inquired; glancing over at him with a hard expression was we followed the rest of the group. Michael glanced back a few times, his eyes searching mine for a few seconds before he'd turn around, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he led the group; everything was falling on his shoulders, everything little problem that happened was his job to fix…it was too much for one person to handle.

"Look who you walkin' with right now." C-Note scoffed, gesturing to Sucre and himself; Sucre looked over at him, displeased at the level he had just brought him down to. "You two should be up there, callin' the shots with the rest of the suits." He observed, meaning that we were clearly on Michael's list of getting out of here.

"Yeah, so?" Sucre pressed the issue, shrugging.

"So?" C-Not scoffed a dry laughing coming from his throat. "You know, Scofield is only here for one reason." He reminded us, I looked over at me, my eyes dropping towards the ground as I remembered Michael's words from several weeks ago. _You and my brother are the only two I want to get out of here. _C-Note looked straight at me, a smirk appearing on his lips. "Yeah, one reason, girl? And that reason isn't you." I wanted to tell him he was wrong, convince him that Michael was getting me out…but how could I, Michael was good at lying; very good at it, so good that I was starting think all of what he'd gotten me to believe was a lie. "And he only needs two things; the old man's money, and the mob boss' plane. He don't need you two." He informed us, my stomach twisted in an uncomfortable way; almost like I'd been punched in the gut. I shook my head, denying the truth of his words.

"You don't know what your talking about." I argued, C-Note laughed dryly, stopping in the middle of the small concrete path as he held his hand up for Sucre and I to stop as well.

"Oh really? What, little girl, you need to open ya' eyes," he laughed, "Scofield don't need or care about you. What? You actually think you two were gonna have some sort of connection when ya'll got out of here, maybe settle down, live the fairy tale life?." He laughed again, my eyes dropped towards the ground, my stomach twisting again; he was right. "Well I hope ya' know that you got a real rude awakein' when he leaves your ass in the woods somewhere and you don't know where the hell to go or what the hell to do." He scoffed.

"Look, we've done a lotta' work on this thing." Sucre argued, coming to my defense. He placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder, glaring in C-Note's direction.

"Exactly. Me too." He agreed a smirk on his lips. "We're just the damn laborers on this thing. The night Fish goes into that hole, you think he wants to carry all that extra baggage? Cause' that's all we are." I shook my head in protest again, refusing the give in to his words, he clearly wasn't thinking any of this though; if he hadn't noticed, PI was doing just fine without him when he somehow got wind of what was going on in there.

"I'm going. I just want out of here, okay." I began to walk way from the two of them; Sucre didn't follow, instead he stood, his demeanor showing that he was contemplating on follow me or staying behind. I stood midway, turning as I didn't hear any footsteps following. Sucre stood there, glancing at C-Note with passive eyes; he couldn't possibly be thinking about this. "Sucre." I called, gaining his attention. He bit his bottom lip and looked in my direction, his eyes held with worry and anxiousness; I could see the dilemma we were in now, part of him wanted to believe C-Note, but the other part of him knew Michael wouldn't just use him and then leave him to the dogs.

"How much does he tell you two anyway?" C-Note continued, gesturing to Sucre and I. "or does he just keep it all to himself?" he scoffed, implying that Michael had a different plan than what he was letting us know about. I knitted my brows together, rethinking anything and everything Michael had ever explained to me. My vulnerability was a flaw, a flaw that they often used as an excuse to get to me; it was working.

"He tells us what we need to know-"I argued, walking back towards the two of them. C-Note scoffed and shoved his hands deeper into his pockets as he looked me over; I could feel my cheeks redden with anger and frustration.

"Yeah, yeah." He laughed, "Probably tells you guys 'the less you know, the better', am I right?" he continued to press, trying to persuade us to agree with his accusations. A cold wind whipped though the yard, chilling me to the bone; I wouldn't admit it out loud, but he was right. Michael didn't us, well at least me, a lot about what he was doing; I usually just followed his lead and kept my head low…maybe I need to start asking more questions.

"You don't know what you're talking about. He tells us everything." Sucre argued, his eyes hard as he glared down at the other inmate, his fists clenching down by his sides, his teeth ground together.

"If he tells you everything, then you don't need him." He smirked, I knitted my brows together. He'd seriously gone mad if he thought the three of us could get out of here alone, without Michael's help; Michael may not tell me everything, but I sure as hell knew that getting out of place without him was impossible. "Now, we can go ourselves. You, me, and princess over here." Sucre looked over at me, I could see it in his eyes; he was seriously considering the offer C-Note had just offered us.

"If you're so confident, why don't go yourself then." I spat, no longer caring if Sucre followed or not, I pushed my hands into my pocket as another wind blew over the almost desolate yard. The sky was overcast, gray clouds hanging in the air like a thick blanket, I began to slow my pace as I noticed David talking to Michael; he looked disillusioned about something and yet, Michael looked fulfilled. I watched as the young kid stalked away, taking a few glances back in his direction as he mumbled words, probably none of them in good nature, towards him. Maybe C-Note was right…

I sat alone at chow, my mind swirling with thoughts as I remembered today's events. The way Abruzzi looked at me, it was almost as if he had been waiting for that moment his whole life, like he knew if it came down to kicking people off the excursion that I would be his first pick, and T-Bag, he looked at me as if he wanted me to join forces with him, like he knew he and I were the ones to pull the short stray, and C-Note, wanting Sucre and I to join him on his own escape, using Michael's outline of course. It didn't dawn on me that all of them had me in mind, obviously I was being used as leverage for all of them; if I didn't go, Michael didn't go; at least, that's what they thought. I moved the food around on my tray with the plastic fork, I swear, the meals got nastier everyday, I couldn't even bear to smell to it this time. _The whole plan changed when you walked into this prison. Scofield don't need or care about you. I smell a conspiracy. We'll figure something out. We can go ourselves. _I was startled as I heard the plastic tray drop onto the table in front of me; I jumped slightly. Dropping the plastic fork onto the tray I looked up, letting a sigh of relief escape my lips as I realized Michael had joined me; he smiled down at me, his blue eyes dancing, my stomach turned.

"You ready to get out of here?" he asked quietly, I looked at him with a forced smile. My eyes panicking, maybe this was his way of saying I was being 'cut'; like when I got cut from the volleyball team in high school, I guess not many asthmatics play sports, including me. I remained silent for a moment.

"Don't say that too loud." I replied, keeping my voice low as a few other inmates stalked past us; their shoulders broad and heavy, making their heads look too small for their bodies, they're heads were shaved; one had a confederate flag tattooed on his upper arm. Michael's lopsided grin appeared on his face as he shoved a bite of food into his mouth chewing it slightly.

"Don't worry about what they said earlier." He suddenly said, his face changing from a smile to all too serious expression; I'd never seen someone's mood changed so fast. "I already told you, you and Lincoln are my top priority. You're spots been guaranteed since day one." He explained, it felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders, I closed my eyes and sighed, trying to keep the smile off my face as I glanced down at the food and then back up at him. Next week; I was going to be out of here. I didn't realize how much I took my life for granted when I was, well, on the 'outside'. I always complained about the work load, always complained about not having enough hours in the day to get stuff done, something or another was always getting in the way. My parents taught me better than that; always told me someone in the world had it worse than I did, and that another person had it worse than those people, and so on.

"Ya know," I scoffed after a few moments of silence. Michael looked up from his food and glanced at me, swallowing the last bit before nodding, showing me that he was listening. "My dad always taught me to never take anything for granted." I informed him, I didn't know why, Michael probably didn't even care when I thought at this point. "I just can't believe it took me getting throw into this place to realize he was right." I shrugged, staring down at my hands as I folded them atop the table.

"You're fathers a smart man." Michael replied, a soft smile playing at his lips. I smiled slightly, continuing to look down at my hands. It'd been almost seventeen years since anyone had referred to my father in present-tense.

"Was a smart man." I corrected him, shaking my head slowly. "Was."

"Erica," his voice was low and pained; almost like he was apologizing for his use of words. "I didn't realize, I'm sorry." He continued, I waved it off with a shrug; my attempt to conceal the tears that brimmed my eyes failing. I shook my head, dismissing his apology.

"It's fine." I croaked it'd been a while since I had been this affected by the thought; you figure it's been seventeen years; I should have been used to the occasional thought by now. I don't think I ever really accepted his death…

_The black casket was decorated with honeysuckles and lavender branches; their yellow and light purple petals brightening the solemn day. The grave yard was still, except for the some forty some odd people that had gathered around on that day. It was December 23, 1988; the ground was caked with the recent snow that had fallen prior to the day, it crunched under my feet as the priest stood at the podium, his breath could be seen in a could of mist as his hot breath mixed with the almost below zero weather. I stood close to my mother, her arm wrapped around my shoulder as she held me against her side; my black mittens gripped at her matching black Peacoat, my tears threatening to freeze to my cheeks as I wiped them away, only for more to cascade down my face. I didn't understand why this funeral required a closed casket…my mother wouldn't tell me. A choir on the other side of the cold and frozen over field hummed their own rendition of the classic Beatle's song "Let it Be"…I never wanted to hear that song ever again, never. I was confused and sad all at the same time; I had just talked to my dad three days prior to this day, he well and happy, bragging about how he'd brought hand woven bracelets from the village market in Africa, claiming he had pictures of zebras, giraffes, and elephants that I could add to my already lengthy collection of animal photographs. It was December 21, 1988 when my mother answered the phone. I was in the living room, quickly wrapping my father's present; it was a pair of slippers and a matching robe that I had found at Macy's on sale, I brought it with the allowance money my mother had given me a few days before. Before closing the white box I slipped an origami figure on top of the clothes. My dad had been gone for a few weeks this time, promising that he'd be home in time for Christmas, I wanted to surprise him when he got back; I taught myself to make an origami horse, well, with some help from the Chinese couple that owned the laundry matt down the street from the grocery store mom and I always went to. I was proud of myself as I closed the lid, taping the sides quickly before placing a giant blue bow on top and pushing it under the tree with the rest of the presents. I had been looking forward to this day since I learned that he was coming home tonight, I hadn't gotten to say goodbye to him when he left two weeks ago on December 7. I squeezed my eyes shut as I remembered the sounds my mother made, her sobs echoing off the walls as she dropped the phone on the floor, her body slumping against the wall as she continued to wail; I didn't even get to say goodbye to him. I glanced up as a man placed a hand on my shoulder; I didn't recognize him, but, he probably knew my father…a lot of people did. I was very short as a child; my head just barely surpassed his waist as I wrapped my arm around his leg, my cheek pressing against his side as I shielded my eyes from the snow that had begun to fall, the wind blowing it directly into my eyes as my mother stepped forward, paying her last respects. I glanced up at the man, noting his appearance; he had silver-gray hair, I was too young to notice if it was dyed that way, or it was due to old age. He wore a black cap that covered most of his head, he glance down at me and pulled me closer to his side as I listened to my mother talk.._

"They said he and the convoy he was traveling with were ambushed." I explained, shaking my head as I remembered what my mother had explained to me, "All them shot to death and badly burned." I shrugged slightly, my eyes wide as I pushed the tears away. "Guess that's why they had a closed casket." I swallowed hard; I was unable to stomach any of the prison food that day; my stomach was twisted in knots, my heart beating with anxiousness and sorrow. I heard Michael sigh out heavily, gaining my attention.

"I'm sorry." He whispered his hand stretched across the table, brushing against mine slightly, a shock flew though my body as my eyes met his; he really was sorry. "I lost my mother when I was young." He informed me, giving me a weak smile. He and I had more in common than I realized. He suddenly withdrew his hand, sensing something was wrong I turned around, noticing that CO Patterson was walking towards us, his strides carrying him directly towards me. He stopped at the front of the table, the other inmates turning to watch the exchange of words that were forthcoming; his hands readjusted his belt that about his waist, holstering his weapons. I glanced up at him, my heart beating, the CO's never came around the inmates during chow unless they were breaking up a fight, maybe PDA wasn't tolerated in prison…

"Boswell, someone's here to see you." I knitted my brows in confusion and glanced in Michael's direction. He was just as confused as I was, he pretended as if he wasn't paying attention to what was happening. I slowly stood up, ignoring the glances and mumbles as Patterson led me from the room.

"Theres no visitation today." I stated my voice shaking slightly as he led me down the small corridors; he was one of the few CO's that didn't lock me in handcuffs most of the time, figured I couldn't do any damage; they were right. He shrugged, as he grabbed my upper arm as another CO walked past us the small hallway, showing he had authority over me. "Well, can you at least tell me who it is?" I asked, he stopped at secluded room, kind of like the one I had my first visitation with my mother in. Patterson shrugged again as he unlocked the door, pushing me inside.

"He says he knows you. You've got twenty minutes." With that he shut the door. Fear rose in me as I noticed the other person in the room; his back was turned towards me, his body facing the only window in the room, it was high up on the wall, and barred, only allowing a trace amount of sunlight into the room. I stood there awkwardly, not wanting to make a sound. He was dressed in a dress shirt and slacks, his hands shoved into his pockets, the sunlight bounced off what looked like a very expensive watch that was clipped around his wrist. My mind wandered back to my visitation with Emily a week ago; 'the suit man'. I didn't know who this guy was, or what he wanted…but hopefully it was to help me. I cleared my throat, letting my presence be known. He seemed startled as he turned around; my jaw hit the floor, a sickening feeling growing in the pit of my stomach…

**Emily Pov**

This was the third day this week that I had barely gotten any sleep; it wasn't just the ankle that was keeping me awake, or the fact that Lincoln's son was out there, scared to death of everything; why I cared this much was beyond me. No, it was the fact that somebody deliberately stole my driver's license. I sipped on the steaming cup of freshly brewed coffee as sat on the couch, curled into the side with a blanket draped around me to keep me warm. It was starting to get colder everyday here in Chicago_. I'm so sorry. God, I should really look where I'm going. _I took the cup away from my lips as the man's face raced thought my head, my brows kitting together…if he really wanted to steal my identity wouldn't he have stolen my credit cards instead? It just didn't make sense; I almost went back to the grocery store and demanded the security footage, but hey, if he really planned this whole thing out…he made sure I was in an isle that the security cameras didn't have access to, I mean who steals frozen food. Not only that, but I had a seventy five dollar fine to pay because of it. I groaned as the phone rang, slowly hobbling up from the couch I walked over to the desk that sat closest to the kitchen, grabbing the phone off the hook just as it ran again; not bothering to look at the caller id.

"Hello?" I asked, my voice somewhat annoyed that someone would be calling at, I glanced in the direction of the clock, eleven-thirty am; well I guess that is an appropriate time to call.

"Yes, is this Miss. Wiklund?" a man asked on the other line, I knitted my brows together; my heart beat increased slightly, my palms sweating. It didn't sound like the guy from the grocery store, but, you know how people can sound different on the phone. "This is Officer Dale Green, from the Chicago Police Department," my heart beat a little faster, my mouth becoming dry; I closed my eyes momentarily, thinking maybe something happened at the prison, what if she was… "We've got your license down here at the station, seems that you lost it at the grocery store last night." My blood ran cold, all the coloring draining from my cheeks, my jaw locked. What in the fuck was going on!

"Um, yeah, yeah." I finally answered, trying to keep my voice from squealing. That tended to happen when I lied about something; my voice got very high, I was surprised no one really noticed. "Thank you, Officer. I'll be by the pick it up soon. Thanks again."

"It's not a problem, Miss. Wiklund." He reassured me as I hung up the phone, wrapping the tickle me pink robe tighter around me I limped into the kitchen, deciding that I needed another cup of coffee. As I poured the steaming hot liquid into the white coffee cup, the sound of a car door caught my attention. Like I said, I was always a nosey one; walking over to the small window that over looked the street out front I pushed the white curtain to the side, glancing outward; a man got into a black car that was parked on the other side of the street, the windows were severely tinted, and the car pulled away from the curb a little too fast to be normal. My eyes danced with suspicion as I closed the curtain, shrugging.

The Chicago Police Department was a busy place; sirens blared, people yelled, apprehended suspects were handcuffed to the waiting chairs that were stationed out side some of the rooms, some even threatened officers as they walked by, papers littered the floor. I could only imagine that the place where Erica was as at least fifty times worse than this. I tried to keep my eyes trained towards the desk at the end of the long room, just wanting to get in and get out. As I neared the desk I placed my hands atop the white surface, glancing at the wanted posters that were sitting in a stack on the right hand corner; Lincoln Jr.'s face adorning every page. He looked happy in the picture; it was different seeing the kid like that…very different. The bulky man at the desk cleared his throat, gaining my attention. I glanced up and tried to put my best smile forth as he looked me over, my nose wrinkled in disgust.

"I'm here to pick up my license; you guys called this morning and said that you had it here for me." I informed him, again, wanting to get in and out of his place as soon as possible. His eyes lit up with the new information and he grunted as he lifted himself from the chair, shuffling his feet back towards the room that lay behind him; he was gone for several seconds before he came back, a white envelope held in his hands as he held it out towards me; I took is slowly, a smile on my face. The first thing I did was open it, ripping the to off the envelope I, dug to bottom of the shallow paper, producing the flimsy card from its depths; it looked just as it did yesterday, nothing was broken, torn, ripped…it was perfect. Then why did he need it?

"Um, what did the person look like that brought it in here?" I asked, placing the card back into my purse where it belonged before I turned back to the officer at the desk. He shrugged, his chin producing several more as his neck pushed up into his face.

"Just some old guy; said he found it laying in the parking lot." He turned his attention back to the other officers as they set a box down on his desk. I guess I was dismissed; knitting my brows together I walked from the building, the cold wind biting at my face as I walked towards my car. Getting in quickly as another wind blew though the small parking lot; I pushed flyway strands of my blonde hair away from my face. Glancing in the rearview mirror I paused. A black car had pulled up behind me, almost identical to the one that I had seen leaving my development earlier, a man sat in the driver's seat, a pair of black sunglasses covering his eyes as he looked straight ahead.

**End Pov**

"I have nothing to say to you." I spat as I turned around; ready to knock on the door, ready to tell Patterson to get him out of my sight at once. Before I could even glam my palm against the door, Mr. Samuels was already grabbing my arms, turning me back to face him. I could feel my cheeks redden with anger as he held me back as I attempted the slam my fist against the door again, my chest rose and fell heavily. I couldn't believe he expected me to just welcome him with open arms, tell him everything was okay.

"Erica, please just hear me out." He spat, releasing me from his grip as I began to pace in front of the door my arms crossed across my chest, I let a few breaths out as I tried to pushed the anger from my body, but, I failed miserably.

"Why, Mr. Samuels? What made you suddenly care about anybody but yourself? Huh?" I spat, stomping towards him and stopping right in front of him, puffing out my chest as I tried to control my breathing. He looked down at the concrete floor, messaging his temples, he was either aggravated or upset, I couldn't tell. I was hoping it was the latter.

"Don't start with that, Miss. Boswell. You know exactly why I'm here." He seethed; I knitted my brows together and gestured to the room around us, a scoff erupting from my throat.

"No I don't. Not unless you've found out a way to get me out of here." I argued, looking at the clock in the corner of the room; the hands moved slowly, I wished they would move faster, I didn't want anything to do with this man. "Why'd you leave?" I asked before he could answer my rebuttal, I shook my head, feeling a lump in my throat. It wasn't because he'd left…he was the only one that could get me out of here, he and Warden…they both gave up on me the moment they found out what 'really happened'. Mr. Samuels ran a hand down his face and paced in a circle for a moment, his hands on his hips as he turned back to me.

"I didn't- I didn't leave-"he began to argue, but weakly, he knew he would never win. I nodded my head and bit my bottom lip as I tried to suppress its quivering.

"Yes you did, I'm not an idiot. Emily told me, said you-you went to Australia." He looked down at the ground ashamed. As he should be, if had of just come in and argued my case against the Warden I wouldn't even be in here.

"I could get fired if the school found out; but, I'm trying." He added quickly, offering his hands in a sign of peace, "I'm trying to get you out of here, I promise." His voice was low, and I could tell he was lying; his right eye twitched when ever he did it, he thinks no one notices.

"No, you're not." I answered, starring at him wide eyed, he just didn't want me to tell anyone that he didn't attempt to see me when I got out of here and let the public know about everything that had happened. "If you were really trying…you wouldn't have left." I scoffed, "You would have come down here the day the accident happened and fought for my rights, but no, you were on a plane halfway across the world."

"Times up." I backed away, letting him drown in his own ignorance as Patterson gripped my upper arm slightly; escorting me to finish my daily schedule. Mr. Samuels stood there, his head inclined towards the ground. He deserved it, and I hope he does get fired…but what he doesn't know is that the public is going to be finding out about this 'misunderstanding' a lot sooner than latter.

**Kellerman Pov**

Paul closed the cell phone as the call coming from the apartment ended, the green shapes of the sound waves that were recording on the laptop that was set up in the passenger seat of the black car ended abruptly; he saved the file, making sure to send it to Caroline later so she knew that the job had been somewhat completed. Sighing he looked out of the tinted window as the wind blew, the leaves had begun to change colors, leaving the trees bare and exposed to the harsh weather that was slowly slipping in from the west. Starting up the car he pulled away slowly, quite satisfied with himself. He'd paid a homeless man fifty dollars to run the license into the police station and another twenty for the fake story about it being left in the parking lot. Not only did it give him access to her records that were already in the system, it also gave him access to her bank accounts, transactions, social networking sites; anything he wanted to know about her, he could get in an instant, but, Caroline wasn't as concerned about her as she was about Boswell.

He locked the door and pulled the sweater tighter around him as he began to walk across the desolate street towards the apartment complex across the street. Entering the building he looked to the left, discretely pulling a piece of paper with Erica's apartment number scribbled down on the face of it. Smiling he knocked on the door that was opposite the small office; a frail old woman answered the door, her skin leathery and wrinkled, think green rimmed glasses fell upon her nose as she looked up at him.

"What do you want?" she asked, he was surprised by the sound of her voice; it was low and raspy, almost sounded like the little alien in that Steven Spielberg movie. He smiled as politely as possible as the smell of smoke lingered from the room.

"Hi. I need the key to apartment number 134." He stated, smiling. The old woman looked at him, un-amused as she shuffled back in side; he heard a few things being shuffled around before the landlord came back with a key to the said room. She didn't look very happy.

"What do you need it for? Isn't that Miss. Boswell's place?" he nodded his head, becoming annoyed with the woman's questions. He nodded as he began to back away from the door, leaving the woman to watch him go.

"She asked me to get some things for her. She's been uh-living with me for the past few months." He answered, stepping closer and closer to the steps that lead to the apartments upstairs.

"Well, you tell her that she owes me rent; oh, and her water and electric have been cut off too." And with that that old woman disappeared back into her smoke filled cavern, finally leaving me alone to do his job.

The apartment was cold and quite as he shut the door behind him; he was just supposed toe sweep the place for any evidence that she was in on whatever Michael Scofield was planning, and put a stop to it simple as that. He checked everywhere; her desk, behind television lets, under the bed, the bathroom, he even went though her wardrobe looking for anything that might hint at even one small thing. Finally he combed the desk again searching the various drawers; finally, his hand grasped a copy for the newspaper from a few months ago, Mr. Burrows' execution date was highlighted, deciding to search further he found other various articles that had been written concerning the 'death' of the Vice President's brother, and Caroline herself. His phone rang, knowing exactly who it was he answered it.

"I've got nothin' on either of them." He told her, glancing back down at the articles before tossing them back onto the desk. "They're not working with Scofield, or anybody else for that matter. They're just two stupid girls that have no idea what they've gotten themselves into." He heard the woman scoff on the other end, clearly not convinced with his findings, nor was she pleased.

"Paul, do you not remember what you told me. They know that Burrows and his son are innocent, so that leads me to believe that either they're working for us, or they're working for another group that's against us." She said bitterly, doubting him once again. He rolled his eyes and leaned against the desk, shaking his head.

"You know what I think, Caroline-"she scoffed, a laugh echoing though the phone.

"What, Paul? It doesn't matter what you think." He could hear other people talking in the background. "I don't really care what you think; just get rid of them." The dial tone sounded, the phone still pressed to his ear as he looked around the apartment.

**End Pov**

"Where's everybody at?" I asked as I closed the door behind me; the guard's room was almost empty. Westmorland was on guard duty, I'd seen him when I came in, and Lincoln, Sucre, and C-Note were the only three that occupied the room. Michael, T-Bag and Abruzzi were noticeably absent, which made me worry. Lincoln glanced up at me from his spot by the hole, his eyes hard and somewhat uncaring.

"Where were you?" he asked, his voice gruff as he stood up from his pot on the floor, I froze as I neared the hole, noting the progress that had been made. I shrugged, rocking on my heels as she began to walk towards me. I could understand if he was uneasy about me not being there, maybe he thought I was getting my own 'insurance policy'. I shook my head.

"Visitation. It was my mother." I lied. I wish she did come and visit me more often, I mean, I understood why she didn't. No only would Dr. Tancredi find out that I was her daughter, but she didn't like this place, then again, who did? He glared at me for a few more moments before helping Sucre from the hole; he handed the spade to C-Note, the inmate rolled his eyes and took Sucre's place.

"I could do it." I offered, glancing at Lincoln. He smirked and shook his head, informing C-Note that Westmorland would take his spot after he was done.

"No, Michael would kill me if he found out." He answered, my lips twitched slightly, but a look on confusion suddenly crossed my features.

"Where is Michael?" I asked. Lincoln ignored my question as began to walk towards the door, relieving Westmorland of his earlier duties. "We gotta get through; Michael's not coming back this way."

It was a good twenty minutes before C-Note's spade hit something hard, the metal clang echoing though the room; I looked up my spot on the floor, Westmorland and I had been silent most of the time, each of us on edge as C-Note worked.

"I'm through." He announced, I scrambled up from my spot on the floor and rushed over to the hole, a smile spreading across my face. At this point, any negative thought I had about this plan was going right out the window, if we got though here…then apparently we were good to go.

"Bulls." Lincoln announced as he poked his head in though the door. All of was scrambled about the room, throwing tools left and right and putting them in their appropriate places as Sucre, C-Note, and Westmorland quickly covered up the hole. There wasn't enough time, I poke my head outside the door and beckoned Lincoln over, my eyes wide with fear, and my voice shaking.

"Lincoln, you've got to stall him. We're not ready yet." I panicked; I could see him nod in my direction. I looked around the room, noting the progress that had been made since I told him to stall the CO. My ears suddenly caught window of a few arguing voices from outside the room, opening the door slowly, and just enough that I could see, my eyes widened. Lincoln had punched Geary in the face, both of them tussling on the ground; I had to admit, that's one CO that deserved it, him and Bellick…but that wasn't what worried me. Two of COs had already arrived on the scene, dragging Lincoln away. I slowly shut the door, closing my eyes and sighing out as I looked around the room, watching as Sucre and C-Note helped Michael from the hole; a smile crossed his face. I walked towards the small reunion, heart pounding in my chest. How was I supposed to tell him this? He just couldn't get a break, and this plan just didn't want to work. He smiled as he pulled me into a small hug; I forced a smile as I hugged him back slightly; ignoring the glances from C-Note and Sucre. He pulled out of the embrace a few moments later, keeping his hand wrapped around my shoulder as he looked around the room smiling.

"Well, we leave tonight." He informed us, happily. None of us moved, smiled, or cheered like I think he had expected us to; we stood, each of us inclining our heads towards the floor, looking despondent. I would have been happy, jumped into his arms and kissed him like in those old sappy romance films…but we knew something he didn't. After a few more moments of silence he realized what was happening.

"Where's my brother?" he asked, his voice tortured with anger and skepticism. I stepped out of his grasp so I could face him, taking a deep breath I glanced down at the ground before looking back up at him.

"Michael, we've got a big problem."

**Additional A/N: I'm not too proud of this chapter. It seems that whenever I take a break from writing I have to start from scratch all over again! I hate it! But, this fic is almost done (cries) but expect a sequel soon!**


	30. Tonight

**A/N: Thanks for all the reviews & encouragement. I would have had this up earlier, but, as fate would have it my klutziness got in the way. I've been bedridden for the past few days with a bruised tailbone; hurts like hell!**

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners. **

**Recap:** _"Michael, we've got a big problem."_

"What do you mean?" he asked his voice full of skepticism and worry. I glanced down at the ground once again, my hands molding into one another's as I twiddled my fingers nervously. He had every right in the world to be angry when he found out the truth. The rest of were silent; Sucre's head inclined towards the ground as C-Note stretched his behind his head, locking his fingers together he paced in a circle for a moment, letting a breath escape his lips. Westmorland stood, leaning against the handle of the shovel for support. None of them were going to step up and tell the truth. I looked back up at him, shutting my eyes momentarily.

"It's Lincoln." I said quietly, my voice shaking slightly. Michael's eyes hardened, the pupils expanding to an inhuman shape and size as fear and anger coursed though this body; I swallowed nervously, his eyes rolled in the back of his head as he realized what I was explaining to him. His lips pushed together in a straight line as he ran his hands over his head, turning and pacing in the opposite direction. "He didn't want the guards to find the hole, Michael." I tried to explain, he huffed several times, trying to calm his anger before he slammed his fist against the wall, fuming. I jumped at the initial burst and tried to calm my nerves, like I said, Michael had every right to be upset, but it still frightened me. Michael stood there for a few moments, his chest heavy up and down with each rigged breath that emitted from his mouth, his hand rested upon the wall in the shape of a fist; his other was positioned on his hip as he looked towards the opposite wall. I looked sideways at Sucre as he rubbed his hand down his face, all of us equally nervous by Michael's strange demeanor.

"Where'd they take him?" Michael asked after a few moments, his eyes moving from the wall to look at the group of us. I expected one of the others to answer this time, since all of us knew very well where Lincoln was at…and I knew for a fact that Michael wasn't goin to be able to break him out of SHU. I stayed silent, rubbing the heel of my hand against my eyes quickly. "Where'd they take him?" he said again, his voice had risen, gaining my attention. I watched as he pushed himself off the wall, my throat fell dry as he began to walk towards us.

"SHU." I said in one quick sentence. He stopped in front of us and rested a hand against his hip as he looked around the room, his brows knitting together. Did he seriously just now realize that we were short two more people? Two people that just so happened to hate each other to extents unknown to man.

"Where's Abruzzi and T-Bag?" he answered, his voice holding suspicion and assumption; he sounded like he knew something that the rest of us didn't know. The three of us shrugged in unison, C-Note shaking his head slowly, Westmorland stayed quite, his eyes darting around the room as the tension began to mount. Michael sighed out heavily, pinching the bridge of us nose before he rested a hand against my shoulder, guiding me towards the door. "Look, we need to find Abruzzi," he stated, opening the door that led outside, a cold hair whipped though the room, chilling me to the bone. I knitted my brows together as the rest began to follow suit, making our way towards the outside of the door crossed my arms over my chest, rubbing my hands up and down my arms as I tried to create friction to warm my body.

"Why?" My teeth chattered, he squinted his eyes though the warm sunshine that spread across the yard; you would think with sun this bright it would be just a little bit warmer outside. I followed suite, using my hand I cupped it over my forehead, keeping the sun out of my eyes. He looked at me and sighed out heavily again, looking across the fence he saw the rest of the CO's leaving the opposite yard that was connected to SHU.

"It's nothing. The less you know, the better off you'll be, Erica. Trust me. I just-"my face fell as C-Note's words echoed in my head, he was right, Michael didn't tell Sucre and I enough. I could already hear the round inmate snickering behind me, laughing at my ignorance. I ignored Michael's backwards glance in C-Note's direction, why was I always one having to go find people? Hell, I didn't even know why Abruzzi was so important to this escape…_the mob boss's plane._ So, that's why we needed Abruzzi; he was our real ticket out of here.

"Michael, I don't even know where John is." I said, teeth chattering again as another wind blew through the walkway, Michael turned and looked at me shoving his hands into his pockets as he sniffled slightly; now was not the time to be getting sick. "The guards will know something's up if they see me walking around." I explained. He bit his bottom lip, realizing the truth in my words. Turning, he strained his neck to look around the corner, spotting another inmate walking our way he casually walked out into the cold, his hands still in his pocket.

"Hey man," he said casually as the Latino looking inmate walked past the group of us, he stopped at Michael's voice; his head was shaved like the rest of inmates in here, it was standard issue, he wore the regular prison attire, a sleeve of tattoos expended up his neck. The inmate, trying to be as intimidating as possible, walked towards Michael, his chest puffed out like he had something to prove.

"What you want, snowflake." He asked, jerking his chin in his direction, his accent thick and barely understandable to someone who wasn't fluent in the language; I only assumed the Michael had been trained in Spanish, I mean, he was venturing to Panama after this. Michael stepped closer, his hands still in his pockets, his face cooler than a cucumber. The inmate held his ground, but, if you looked closely you could see him step back slightly.

"Have you seen John Abruzzi around here anywhere?" Michael asked his voice unemotional, but, I knew better. Inside he was terrified, not just for his brother, but also for the outcome of this plan. Every time he seemed to get it together, something else would decide to get in the way of it. The inmate shrugged, backing away again, his head jerking towards the old storage shed on the other end of the lot.

"Yeah, last I saw em' he was going into the shed." He informed us, Michael nodded a thanks and the man continued on his way. Once the inmate was a good ways away, the rest of the group all turned towards me. I wanted to roll my eyes; I guess I was deemed the messenger.

"Erica," Michael breathed out, the way he said my name sent a shiver up my spine, trying to ignore the sensation my eyes met his, cheeks reddening. "I need to you to go get Abruzzi; he needs to know what's going on." Deciding that arguing was pointless I sighed, stalking towards the other end of the lot. I shivered slightly; the yard was unusually quite, even though that the main one was filled with inmates. I watched as a few lifted weights, some whistling in my direction. I glanced behind me, only to see that Michael and the rest of them had ventured back into the guard's room, leaving Westmorland to take over watch. I was starting to think that trying to get out of here was pointless, I mean, how many times has this escape been postponed since he got here; it was one thing or another getting in the way, rather it be a blockage of concrete or another nosey inmate wanting to join the crew in hopes that they would too be able to escape. Upon reaching the concrete walkway that led up to the shed I shivered, and it wasn't because I was cold. T-Bag was walking the opposite direction, his hair a mess and flowing in the wind like a flag as it blew it to one side. His walk was the oddest thing I'd ever seen in my life, his hips swayed to the side a little bit, almost like what a girl does to get a man's attention. Keeping my distance, I crossed my arms over my chest as I saw his eyes travel over me; I couldn't help but notice a slight panic in his face.

"Nice day outside, ain't it Sweetpea." He said as he passed by me, I knitted my brows together, but, I didn't answer his question. I had decided that I wanted nothing to do with this man; I would feel terribly guilty knowing that he would be back out on the streets by this evening…not like Michael would allow us to leave without his brother though. I turned slightly, stopping.

"T-Bag!" I called, seeing that he was almost to the end of the walkway. He turned sharply, his fingers messaging the perfectly shaved goatee that had grown on his chin. He looked panicked as he bit his bottom lip. "Have you seen Abruzzi? He didn't show up for PI." I asked, suspicion lacing my voice. T-Bag shrugged, a nervous laugh escaping his lips as he looked back towards the guard's room; he was in a hurry to get back there for some reason.

"No, no, Sweetpea. I haven't seen ole' John no where today." He answered, dismissing me before he continued to quickly walk quickly towards the room that PI was now accompanying. I looked down towards the concrete as another gust of wind whipped trough the very place where I stood; pushing my hair out of my face I continued to watch him leave.

"If you see him, tell him that Michael's looking him!" I called over the whistling wind. He waved me off, acknowledging that he'd heard me. I turned slowly, still confused by T-Bag actions; I half expected him to drag me into the shed himself, have his way with me while none of the other "overprotective" inmates were around. He seemed scared, almost like he didn't want to find out something, then again, who in here wanted their dirty laundry out for everyone to see. I was happy to be out of the cold when I entered the shed, a table blocking my way as I ran into; its wooden legs dragged against the almost black concrete floors, a groan filling the room. It was eerily quite, the wind blowing against the window outside was the only sound that echoed off the concrete and mold ridden walls.

"John?" I asked, cautiously stepping around the wooden work table, a chill ran up my spine. "John-"I called again, my eyes starring at the blood that was sprayed across the window. My own blood ran cold upon seeing this, T-Bag's strange actions prying their way into my head as I stepped further into the room. I gasped at the ghastly sight in front of me; John Abruzzi, Chicago's most feared mob boss, lay on the floor in a pool of his own blood. His hand gripped at his throat as more continued to pour out over his fingers as they clasped around his throat, a few clots had already found their way from his throat. Rushing over, I dropped to my knees beside him, not sure what I should do. I didn't want another man's blood on my hands; figuratively or real in the sense, but, Abruzzi was a part of our ticket out of this place. If I let him die, then I let Lincoln die.

"John." I said rather loudly, seeing if he could still process anything that was happening around him; his eyes rolled slightly, the usually electric blue hues were dulled by the loss of blood, his lips were sickeningly pale. "John. Can you hear me? Come on-"a puddle of blood erupted from his lips as he tried to speak.

"Kid-"He wheezed, not being able to speak in long sentences. Every time he took a breath more blood made its way from his neck and his lips; that's when I realized that there was nothing I could do, but, I had to do something…anything. Grabbing a cleaning cloth from the dirtied floor I pressed it to his neck, attempting to stall the bleeding. The calloused hand of the equally calloused inmate reached up and gripped my own hand; nails digging into my skin, fearing flashing though pale his eyes. He didn't want to die.

"John, I need to stay with me, okay? Can you do that for me? I'm going to get help, I promise." I said all at once, grabbing his hand that rested onto of mine I placed it onto the already bloodied cloth.

"Kid-"he wheezed again, barely audible to the human ear. "Don't leave-"I licked my lips quickly, heart beating rapidly within my chest as I looked at him.

"I'll be back, I promise." I reassured him. As much as he seemed to hate me, I couldn't forget the countless times that he had 'saved' me from being one of T-Bag's victims; the riot came to my mind first, I was sure Abruzzi was going to kill T-Bag if he came anywhere near me. I hurried from the room and back out into the cold, knowing that I didn't have a lot of time before any attempt at a rescue would be feeble in the eyes of the reaper. I spotted a few CO's walking, doing their daily run down of the PI stations; waving my hands above my head I called to them, my yelling turning into screams as they didn't turn around the first time. I had only known that they had heard my screams of 'help' when they dropped their coffee cups on the ground and began to run in my direction, each of them speaking to their walkies frantically. Not waiting for them to catch up I rushed back into the shed, my only focus was keeping Abruzzi breathing until they could get there. Bending down next to him again his head flopped to the side, his eyes frantic.

"John, I'm right here. It's me." I calmed him as I reapplied pressure to his neck. "Who did this to you?" I pressed my assumption already on the only person who would be bold enough to do so, even when his freedom was on the line. Abruzzi's eyes rolled slightly again, another clot of blood forming from behind his lips as he spoke.

"T-"was the only letter that escaped his lips before the CO's burst through the already broken door, I looked up just in time to see the panic cross each of their faces. The fatter one standing to the left lifted his walkie from his shoulder pad and clicked the button.

"We've got an inmate down, I repeat-"the static crackled on the radio, "We've got an inmate down."

I was escorted from the premises as the medical staff and other CO's arrived; Dr. Tancredi gave me a suspicious glance, her eyes cold before they loaded him on the gurney. I must have asked too many questions while they were loading him onto the gurney, she gave me several hard looks that read 'shut up' without her even having to say anything. I was appalled by the lack of comfort or sanitary clean up that was given to me. The rest of the medical staff equipped me with a bag of wet ones so I could clean John's blood from my hands. I walked away slowly, having almost used the whole bag by the time I reached the fence that housed the rest of the nosey inmates that were watching the hospital issued helicopter lift off into the air. I would need to thoroughly wash my hands when I got back into Gen-Pop; Rocky's face echoed in my mind as I continued to walk back towards the group, seeing that T-Bag had joined them at the mesh fence. I tried to push the memories away, but, every time I looked at my hands all I could see was the fresh blood littering my palms, my fingernails, Jesse's desperate pleas of life flashed though my mind. I continued to rub the already stained blood off my hands as I reached the fence. My eyes glazed over as I glanced in T-Bag's direction; his eyes caught mine, our game of who could stare the longest last for only a few moments. I didn't know if he knew I could see the fear flash threw his eyes the minute I walked over, he knew that I knew that he had tried, and probably succeeded, in killing Abruzzi.

"The name is John Abruzzi." I repeated into the telephone, during yard. I glanced over at the group that was huddled together only a few feet away; Michael stood, biting his fingernails down until there was practically nothing left, today was Lincoln's execution. Michael wasn't letting anyone confront him, believe me, I'd tried. I leaned against the small prison payphone and repeated the name again, the nurse on the other end gave me some bullshit about how this isn't protocol. "Look, I don't care what your protocol is." I argued, my cheeks begging to tint red from the anger and the cold wind that whipped though the yard, chilling my face. "I just- I just want to know if he's okay." I finished, sighing out heavily as I used my free hand to rub my temples slightly. I probably seemed out of place, calling to check on someone who had clearly shown, from the beginning, that he didn't like me or the idea of me joining the escape. The nurse on the other lined scoffed slightly, a dry laugh emitting from her throat before the dial tone went dead. "Hello?" I asked, making sure she didn't use the whole 'lost service' trick; I'd used it many times to get off the phone with my mother when I was in college, I kind of regret doing it now. "Hello?" I asked again, my voice irritated as I awaited an answer…but none came. After a few more moment of silence I slammed the phone back onto the hook, mumbling under my breath as I began to walk towards the group, they all looked at me with wondering eyes, each anticipating my update on the mob boss; I shrugged my shoulders sadly as I reached them. "The hospital isn't giving out any information."

"Wonder what happened to that boy?" T-Bag wondered allowed, his attention was completely on the cuticles he was picking at as he brought his finger up to his lips, tearing the dead skin off before spitting the small pieces out, holding his hand out in front of him, admiring his 'work' he brushed them against his jacket. Adjusting the navy blue cap that sat atop his head he glanced over at me. I starred back, the rest of the group wasn't stupid, they all knew T-Bag had tried to kill Abruzzi; I mean, maybe it was a coincidence, but, nine times out of ten, an enemy getting killed in prison, wasn't an accident, or luck. "Maybe them mafia chickens came home to roost after all."

"We've got to put this whole thing on hold." Michael announced, glancing in my direction. I'm sure he could see my sigh of disappointment, my eyes diverted towards the ground before I looked back up at him. I should be grateful that he even tried to help me, but, it would be nice to get out of this place.

"Whoa, easy Fish. We ain't puttin' nothin' on hold." C-Note argued, shaking his head as he planted his feet flat on the grass. Michael stepped towards him, fists balled up down by his sides, C-Note's eyes glanced down at them, anticipating his next move.

"I don't think you heard me." Michael said loudly, "Until I get my brother out of that hole, no one's doing a damn thing." He glanced around at the rest of the men in the group, his eyes completely skipping over me, he knew I wasn't going to try anything; I came here to help Lincoln out as much as he did.

"Well, God bless Sink," C-Note scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "But the man is gone." Michael's eyes hardened as C-Note continued, he must have really wanted to get on Michael's bad side. "You go to the tombs, you don't get out. Not until they strap you up." I glanced over at C-Note a blank expression playing at my face, how could he be so insensitive to something like this? Michael took a few more menacing steps towards C-Note, the veins in his wrists and hands popping out as he tried to restrain himself; I reached out, slightly gripping the blue prison uniform. If a fight broke out and Michael got sent to SHU then we might as well call this whole thing off.

"If you think I'm going to leave my brother behind, you have massively underestimated me." Michael spat, moving closer that he and C-Note were chest to chest, their noses almost touching. This wasn't a good situation to be in; I gripped the sleeve of his shirt tighter, tugging slightly. T-Bag looked very interested in this affair now, he wanted Michael to hit him, and he wanted Michael to get sent to SHU. C-Note scoffed grimly, raising his eyebrows at the angry man.

"Really?" C-Note pressed, a grim smile spreading over his obnoxious face. Michael repeated the statement, spitting venom from his blue eyes as C-Note continued to egg him on. I was ready to move between the two of them, if something happened to me, well, then I suspected that Michael wasn't going anywhere either. T-Bag's voice suddenly slithered though the yard, sending a cold shiver up my spine.

"That ain't my fight." He informed us, his skinny body moving to stand behind C-Note; it was almost as if they were separating into small teams now. Apparently, they were against Michael's plan to stay and wait for Linc. "I'm through that hole pretty, with or without you, next time I'm on PI."

Michael turned around to he wouldn't have to look at him, I could see anger playing across his face as she shoved his hands into his pockets, looking around for a moment he let a low and somewhat growl filled sigh from his lips. "We're not having this debate." He said, almost like when a parent and child argue, and the parent knows that the child is right, so they try and end it there; no questions asked.

"Oh, we're not?" T-Bag hissed.

"We're not having this debate!" Michael said again firmly, his voice rising high above his normal one, I wasn't even aware that he could get so loud. I flinched crossing my arms over my chest as I listened to what T-Bag had to say, I had to admit, he was right. All of us had thought about just leaving at one point or anything, but, the point was that none of us had the guts to leave…at least I didn't, anyway.

"We outta' open the floor to everyone else, huh? Let's see what they have to say." T-Bag looked in C-Notes direction first, giving the man permission to speak; he didn't hesitate, that annoying voice floating through the air.

"It's a clear shot baby." He shook his head from side to side slowly, his eyes starring off into space before he turned to glance at Michael and I, "Everyday we don't use that hole, is another day that screws can find it."

"It's not finished." Michael interrupted him, glaring in T-Bag's direction once again, his voice filled with rage. "The two of you will never make it." Michael smirked, thinking he had won the debate, and he would have, it weren't for C-Note.

"Oh, Fish, it's not just two." He said smoothly, nodding his head in Westmorland's direction, before his eyes glanced over at mine, I looked towards the ground.

"If it's now or never, we gotta go." Westmorland defended himself, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at the rest of us huddled in the group. I understood what he meant. "Go with us, Michael. You've done everything you could." He voice was soft and pleading as he looked at the younger man. Michael turned to me next, my heart rate increased, and it wasn't just because he had gripped my shoulder slightly, his eyes hurt and pleading as he looked at me.

"Erica, you-you can't possibly be thinking about this-"he pleaded. I trained my eyes towards the ground, biting my bottom lip, but, before I could answer with my own excuse C-Note was already answering for me, my head snapped up as his reply.

"Oh, she is, Fish." He nodded in my direction, crossing his meaty arms over his chest as he rocked back and forth on his heels slightly; he squinted his eyes, a smirk appearing on his lips. "Is that what it'll take to get you to go, Fish? Her?" he motioned towards me. My jaw locked together, like I said before, I was everyone's pawn, no matter what the situation was. Michael turned and looked at me, a hurtful expression upon his soft features. "Oh, she jumps you jump, right, Fish? Well, she's already said that she's all for leaving, with your ass or without it-"my mouth flew open.

"I never said that." I spat harshly, looking up at Michael, he couldn't believe C-Note, I mean, he knew I wasn't stupid enough to try and leave on my own; I'd never make it, and, he should have known that I wouldn't leave him there in the first place, come hell or high water.

"No, but you were thinking it." He said slyly, my breath hitched in my throat, I had contradicted myself. I would be lying if I said that the thought of just getting out of here myself hadn't crossed my mind, hell, I wouldn't be surprised to find out if it had crossed Michael or Lincoln's mind either.

"They're adults, Michael. They can decide for themselves." T-Bag just needed to get his opinion out there, not like we needed, or valued it in anyway shape or form though. Everything changed in a instant, without warning, though, we all should have seen it coming, Michael's hands were gripping T-Bag's shirt, pushing him up against the fence violently, about to beat the hell out of him, kill him even. It was probably wasn't the smartest thing on my part, but, like I said, if anything happened to be, no one was getting out of here. I rushed forward, gripping Michael's arm as I tried to pull him away from the man; T-Bag wasn't worth it.

"Michael!" I yelled as he continued to lash out at the skinny man that was pinned to the fence, his hands held up in defense in front of him, a smile playing on his face; he was happy he had finally broken Michael, gotten under his skin. It wasn't a moment later that guards had already descended upon the scene; I yanked at Michael's arm again, tugging with all I had left. "Michael! He's not worth it." I pulled on him again, C-Note doing his best to convince the guard that it was nothing to be alarmed about, Michael stopped his small fit and began to retreat, his hands finding their way to the back of his head as he looked up towards the sky, sighing out heavily. "Michael." I whispered, he looked down at me, taking in a deep breath as he tried to calm himself down. I reached up, my hand resting on the side of his face momentarily as I took a quick glance in the direction that T-Bag still stood in, a smile on his face. "He's not worth it." I whispered again, he nodded in agreement, his anger subsiding rather quickly, my hand dropped down from his face so that it rested on his shoulder. "I'm not going without you." I reminded him; he looked down at me, nodding his head again. "You know that right; I wouldn't do that to you."

"Now, you know what." C-Note began; his voice was really starting to irritate me. Sucre stood next to Michael now, still trying to calm him down from his outburst several seconds ago. T-Bag fixed the collar of his shirt; tugging it so it was perfecting sitting on his chest, not a wrinkle in sight. I glared in his direction, a smirk still plastered to his face. "There are two things that everybody needs to get with here," he continued, I knitted my brows together, confused. Now, he sounded like someone that was all for Michael's plan about waiting to leave, who's side was he playing for anyway? I rested my hands on my hips, watching as he turned to T-Bag first. "First, Hillbilly, you got to learn some respect. The man here made everything possible." T-Bag bit his bottom lip, shoving his hands into his pockets as he tried to contain his anger and annoyance; he obviously didn't like being told what to do. I watched as Michael began to tense up again, resting his hands on the backside of his neck as he shoved Sucre's hands away from him; he was clearly upset, upset about everything…and he felt betrayed. "And you, Fish," he started in on Michael; he glanced over at him, eyes hard and burning with fury. "You're gonna have to get with that _we_ are doing this afternoon," C-Note clearly emphasized the word 'we' to get at me in particular, his eyes glancing over at me, I could see them smirking. "As soon as we get on PI."

Michael chuckled ironically, you know, the laugh you get when you know someone his being incredibly stupid, but, no matter how hard you try to convince them that they're wrong…but they just don't listen. He dropped his hand down by his side, clearly shaken by the fact that he was on his own side at this point, himself against the four of us; or three of us, however he wanted to look at it. As far as I was concerned I was on his side…not there's. "So, you're just gonna make a run for it, in the middle of the day?" he laughed dryly. C-Note shrugged and crossed his arms over his chest, glancing around the yard momentarily.

"Well, you gotta do what you gotta do, huh baby?" Michael sighed out angrily, his mood changing once again as he ran his hand down his face, he looked almost as if he were on the verge of tears; whether from frustration or betrayal, I couldn't tell.

"You are gonna screw this whole thing up." He fumed, running his hands over his head nervously, clearly upset by the way this 'debate' was going. C-Note chuckled, clearly satisfied with himself that he had brought Michael down as low as to have him loose his cool in front of everyone.

"That's not for you to decide anymore. Not this train is leaving the station, and I suggest you get on it." C-Note continued, pointing in our direction. I stayed silent the whole time this debate was going on, knowing that any input that I provided would be twisted around and used as leverage to get Michael to agree to leaving his brother for dead while he helped four escaped convicts escape, putting them back on the streets. If worse came to worse, and that did end up happening, I would support Michael's decision in turning every single one of the in; including Westmorland, even though that would break my heart.

"Well, you know what?" Michael retorted, shoving his hands in his pockets and glaring at each and every one of us, including me. Why he was directing any hostility towards me was beyond my imagination; I had done nothing but try and help him, agree with everything he was saying, even though I died a little inside every time this plan went wrong. I was losing myself in this prison, loosing my identity and blending in among the murders, and con-artists that resided here…I didn't want it anymore. "You sons of bitches?" I lowered my eyes towards the ground as he directed his statements towards all of us once again, he glared at me, disappointment at me, but for what? There was nothing I could say to make this situation any easier or better, there was obviously no way to reason with these men; my cheeks burned hot as I looked back up at the ground. "I won't let you do it."

"What are you gonna do?" T-Bag scoffed, a small laugh flowing from his throat, he had come closer to join the rest of the group in turning against the only man that was trying to help us, even though he didn't have to. "Blow the whistle on your own escape?" Without warning, or exchange of towards, Michael turned and walked away; his feet pounding across the grass as he stalked towards another part of the prison yard, clearly too upset to deal with any of this. I watched him go, mouth dry and stomach in knots; I wanted to go to him, follow behind him like a lost puppy, but, I stayed stationary. He already thought I turned against him, there was probably no way I could change that feeling.

"He'll be back." C-Note reassured us, crossing his arms over his chest once again as he looked around. My jaw locked at his words, I hoped Michael didn't come back; I hoped he got himself out of this place, escaped without us, just to show C-Note that he couldn't do it…but then where would I be? Still stuck in this prison…with no protection what so ever, these men didn't value me whatsoever, and if Michael left, well, and then I was just everyone's bitch. I wouldn't last in here; truth be told, Michael was the very reason I wasn't dead yet to begin with.

"He's right, you know." I stood up for him, starring at C-Note. He cocked his head to the side and observed me from afar, a smirk appearing on his lips. He must have been waiting this whole time for me to finally stand up for him. "You'll never be able to make it without him." C-Note pinched the bridge of his nose as he scoffed, trying to keep the laugh contained within his own body; he glanced in T-Bag's direction momentarily, I hadn't even noticed that he had made his way from over by the fence to where I stood now, my back barely pressed against the wall.

"Hold up here, Sweetpea." T-Bag sang, a smile on his face as he tipped his cap up, readjusting it on his odd hairline before licking his lips as he looked at me, I suddenly felt very uncomfortable. "What do you mean _you all_?" he pressed, his hands resting down by his sides as he continued to stare at me; something wasn't right. "You're comin with us, darlin." He chuckled darkly, my eyes widened slightly. I was pawn, and today was the day that the day that were going to play it to their advantage.

"No, I'm not." I stated boldly, glancing around at the rest of the group. Westmorland and Sucre both looked at each other, both of their brows furrowed in a confused expression; they either didn't know what was going on, or they were really, really good actors. C-Note stepped up next to T-Bag, completely blocking the CO's view that they had on this particular wall, this was not good.

"Oh yes you are." T-Bag stated again, stepping closer so that I was no pressed against the wall, the cons standing before me dwarfed my height by at least a foot; my stomach turned in knots again, heart beating rapidly as sweat began to build up on my brow. " Pretty ain't leavin' here with out ya', we all know that-" I turned my head away momentarily, trying to slip out from between the wall and T-Bag's chest, only to have C-Note block my way; T-Bag chuckled, this had obviously been planned well before they decided to let Michael in on they're plan. "So, unless you come, none of us is getting' outta here tonight." He explained, my jaw locked before I looked straight at him, wishing I had the strength and the guts to rip his eyes out right now, I wouldn't feel one ounce of guilt.

"Well, then you shit outta' luck." I answered, placing my hands against his chest I shoved him away from me, my heart beating rapidly as I focused on just getting out of here; I hadn't realized the real extent of my actions until I found myself, shoved up against the wall, one of T-Bag's hands clasped around my throat as I head hit the concrete portion of the prison walls, as gasp rumbled from my throat. He roughly pressed his body into mine again, this time pushing so hard that I could almost feel my ribs grinding together again, I was hoping he had forgotten all about that accident; but he didn't. He breathed out heavily as he moved his face closer to mine, our noses touching.

"Man, are you crazy-"Sucre began to argue, stepping forward to pull C-Note out of the way so he could get to me, I understood Westmorland couldn't do much, one swift kick to his hip and he'd be out, no doubt about that. C-Note turned, holding his hand up as he stalked towards Sucre; the Puerto Rican inmate silenced immediately, jaw clenching together in anger.

"Look, you wanna get outta here, _papi_? C-Note observed, I could see Sucre's eyes drift towards the ground in defeat, he must have realized that I was now their way out. It hurt me to know that he had given up so easily, I mean, Michael was the reason he was getting out of here, he could at least try and help me.

"You know, Sweetpea?" T-Bag chuckled, his hot breath tickling my lips. A lump arose in my throat, and I felt the need to throw up as his foul smelling breath continued to overtake my senses. "I never figured you for a potty mouth." He chuckled, if he moved in any closer, his lips would be touching mine…and then I would throw up, no doubt about it. "But, you know, I can be very, very persuasive." He continued, my eyes widened as a stinging sensation ran up my side, the hand that was cutting off my air supply restricted me from screaming, calling out at all. My eyes went wide as they began to water, lip quivering, and a satisfied smile on his face as he continued to press his free hand against my rib cage, I could feel them grind together. I closed my eyes tightly, a whimper escaping from my throat. "Must be ma' charm, eh, Sweetpea?" he continued on, pressing a little harder, I opened my eyes immediately.

"Come on man, this isn't right." Sucre argued again, his voice on edge; C-Not held his hand up again, motioning for him to be quiet.

"Now, we've got our own little plan, ya see." He bean to explain to me, licking his lips momentarily. I could feel my face heat with pain and embarrassment. "Now, I need you to listen very, very carefully, Sweetpea? Can you do that for me?" I whimpered again in an answer, a smile gracing his lips again. "Now, you are gonna tell Pretty, later on today before we go on for PI, that you're comin with us. That way we are guaranteed a spot on that train outta' here, we clear?" I asked, his lips brushed against mine as he spoke slightly, I felt the lump continue to rise in my throat as a sickening feeling washed over me, but, on the other hand I could finally breath. T-Bag had released me from his grip and my hands immediately flew up to rub my chaffed neck, coughing as I tried to catch my breath. He still stayed close, watching me intently as he awaited my answer.

"Crystal." I whimpered the buzzer rang about the same time, signaling that yard was over. T-Bag smiled as he ruffled my hair, picking me up from my slouching position as a few CO's began to walk towards us, rounding up the other inmates. He wrapped an arm around me as I continued cough, rubbing my neck as silent tears continued to fall from the creases of my eyes.

"That a girl, Sweetpea." He sang happily as he glanced back in the direction of the guards, the rest of the group following suite as he half dragged/ half walked me into the cell block. Pretending like we were the best of friends.

**Emily POV**

I held the door open for the elderly couple that was walking up towards the entrance of _Dunkin Doughnuts_; the old woman hobbled in first, her husband following suite. They both weakly replied with a 'thank you' before I closed the door behind them, juggling a large cup of coffee in one hand and a bag that contained two delicious Maple doughnuts in the other, both of them had been freshly made and had my name written all over them. I quickly walked to my car, unlocking it as I set the coffee on the roof, setting the bag down in the passenger seat. I looked up from my fiddling around with the heater only to see a black car pull up next to mine, its windows heavily tinted. My breath caught in my throat; call me crazy, but, I've been seeing a lot of those cars around lately…and they always seemed to be stationed around me, or somewhere I was. I continued to watch the car suspiciously as I took the coffee from the hood of my car, having already left a few cups up here in the past, and driven away with out getting them down; it was such a mess when that happened. I stopped midway as the door of the black car opened. All I could think about was the man who had stolen my license, what if he was following me? What if this had something to do with Lincoln's son? Oh shit…My heart beat rapidly, if someone was after him, _that's the same thing they said_, LJ's, that's what I have decided to call him, words galloped though my mind again. Somebody was after him, I'd seen shit like this before on CSI, and Law & Order; it was no secret that the government was a corrupt business.

A sigh of relief escaped my throat as the other doors began to open; five middle aged women, in total, had gotten out of the car, they all looked like soccer moms to me. My mom was one once, and when I mean once, I mean once. She was a soccer mom for a day, she hated the drives and strict schedules though, and I didn't like soccer very much anyway. I didn't notice that they all wore the same shirt until they began to hurry towards the coffee/doughnut shop.

"Linda, hurry up, we're gonna be late for the protest." A short blonde lady said from up front, hurrying her friend as she jogged towards the side walk. Protest? My eyes widened as I caught a glimpse of her shirt; 'Free Lincoln Burrows', I wanted to choke on my spit. Those protests! I had heard one of the students in the library talking about it a few days ago, bragging about how her dad worked at Fox River, saying how he was going to do everything in his power to keep that monster behind bars, I wanted to roll my eyes at her ignorance. Wait, maybe this was a way I could help LJ, I never thought things through enough to realize if it was a good or bad idea.

"Excuse me!" I called as I ran up to the ladies; they all stopped just as the leader had opened the door, looking back at me with a blank expression on all of their faces, the last one, with short red hair looked at me and smiled. I quickly walked towards them, so I wouldn't have to yell.

"Yes, dear?" she asked, holding her purse closer to her. The rest of the woman groaned, probably thinking I was one of those 'pro death' members, ready to school them on why the state of Illinois still needed to penalty, and why Lincoln Burrows deserved it; they'd all probably heard it before. I smiled sweetly before answering her, knitting my brows together as I acted clueless.

"Are those shirts for the protest?" I asked, the woman's eyes lit up, happy that someone else wasn't clueless to what was going on in this state. She nodded happily and stepped off the curb.

"So, you're a supporter too? Of Burrows…staying alive?" she asked skeptically. Making sure that she was barking up the wrong tree, acting surprised, I nodded; eyes lighting up. "Oh, do you want one of these? We have plenty!" she smiled, rushing back to the black car and grabbing one from the backseat, the rest of the woman rolled their eyes at how slow their friend was being. She handed the shirt and wished me luck, saying that she hoped to see me there. I waved them a good bye, observing the shirt as I got into the front seat. A white van caught my eye as I glanced at the review mirror, making sure nothing was blocking my way to I could back up, ready to head towards the prison. The man sitting in the front seat of the van was wearing those dark, black tinted sunglasses…

**End Pov **

"_Pumpkin." The voice sang, I kept my eyes closed, snuggling closer into the sage colored blankets that littered the bed, I knew just by the smell that I wasn't in my own room. They smelled just like my father's cologne; he called last night and said that he would be there when I woke up, he also promised me that he would make his famous chocolate chip and strawberry pancakes with whipped cream filling for me, doused with hot maple syrup, occupanied with a glass of freshly squeeze orange juice. He had been working Moscow, Russia for the last few weeks. This was the second birthday that he had missed due to his job, but, it was okay. I understood he did it so we could have the life that we did, I mean, it wasn't luxurious, but, at least we had a roof over our heads. "Pumpkin," the voice rang again, this time, I opened my eyes slowly. A most pleasant smell filling my nostrils…chocolate chip and strawberry pancakes; it didn't take me long to figure out where the voice was coming from, jumping from under the covers I turned, a smile spreading across my face as my father wrapped his arms around me in a giant hug. _

"_I'm sorry I missed your birthday." He mumbled as he held me close, I was six now, I wasn't going to cry over something like that…I was a big girl. Smiling I pulled away from him and sat on my knees on the bed, looking up at him with my big brown eyes, they were identical to his. "But, I made you breakfast in bed, and, it's your favorite." He smiled, pointing towards the bedside table. He gingerly took in from the table and set the tray down in my lap, hading me a fork and a knife. I shoveled the food into my mouth smiling up at him; I loved it when he was home. "Oh, I almost forgot." I swallowed a bit of my orange juice. _

"_What?" my small voice asked, wiping my mouth with the sleeve of my pajama top as I set the orange juice back onto the bedside table. "What is it?"_

"_Your birthday present." He smiled, reaching behind his back he pulled out a doll; I could tell from his glossy finish that it was made of wood. A face was pained on the cylinder looking shape; I'd never seen anything like it. When he handed it to me I observed it for a moment, noting the colors that were used within the wooden structure. It used purple, green, and gold…some of my favorite colors. _

"_What is it?" I asked, holding it in my hands as I sat Indian style on the sheets, he made himself comfortable and smiled as he outstretched his hand, wanting me to hand it back to him. _

"_It's a Matryoshka doll." He answered, I gasped as he turned the wooden head, lifting it from the wooden body, and I gasped._

"_Daddy, you broke it!" I was on the verge of tears just as he began to laugh, motioning me to move closer so he could see what I was doing. I crawled across the bed and sat down next to him, peering inside the hollowed out space, my brows furrowed together. There as another shape inside. _

"_No," he chuckled, "I didn't break it." His voice deep and loving, "You see, Erica, a Matryoshka doll is a very special toy." He began to explain to me, he pulled a smaller figurine from inside the space, my eyes lit up as he held it out towards me. "See, it separates from, top from the bottom, and there's always a smaller figure inside of that one-" _

"_And then another inside of the other one?" I concluded, squinting as I took the top off the other one, revealing another figure inside, I looked at him and smiled. He smiled back, reaching out he placed a hand on the back of my head lovingly ruffling my hair. _

"_That's my girl." He chuckled. "Do you know how they got started?" I looked at him and shook my head, continuing to reveal the figurines within the other ones, smiling each time I took one apart. Finally, on the last on I pulled a small folded up origami shape from it's depths, I was surprised my small fingers could even fit in that among of space, I unfolded the paper, smiling as I looked at the miniature origami butterfly in my hand. He chuckled and pulled me into his lap. "Well, then let me tell you. The first Matryoshka doll was carved in 1890 by a man named Vasily Zvyozdochkin-" _

"Hey." I snapped my head up as I heard the familiar voice float though the cell, our hour of free time was almost over. I'd be lying if I said that seeing him didn't make me feel a little better, even if he did think I was going to get out of here without him. He smiled at me slightly, pushing himself off the metal bars of the cell before he came around the bunk beds, sitting down next to me; the weight made the mattress sink, I looked over at him, holding he didn't see the all too visible finger impression that were still on my neck from earlier.

"Hi, Michael." I answered, still looking at him. He sighed out heavily, his head dropping towards the floor as he folded his hands in his lap. I watched as he opened his eyes, turning so that his body was competently facing mine.

"Look, Erica, I'm sorry about earlier." He apologized, I sighed out, and I could feel my heart beat against my chest as he looked at me. I didn't notice his hand had slipped into mine until I felt his fingers sliding over mine slowly, sending shivers up my spine. The feeling was so foreign to me, I didn't expect him to come to apologize; just like I didn't expect myself to go though with T-Bag's little plan. "I wasn't- I wasn't directing any of that towards you. I hope you know that." He continued, I gripped his hand in return, nodding my head slowly.

"I know, Michael. I know." I reassured him, "I understand- you know, you just- you can't leave your brother behind. He's the reason you came here in the first place" I closed my eyes and looked down at the floor, a moment later I felt a hand under my chin, forcing my head up until I was looking at him. My breath hitched in my throat, I'd never been this close to Michael before, and the feeling was intense. I know he felt something too; it was just too strong to ignore.

"And I can't leave you behind either." He breathed out; I smiled slightly, a weight felt as if it had been lifted from my shoulders. A moment later he let go of my hand, his arms opening for an embrace. I didn't hesitate, but, I didn't fling myself at him either. He pulled me against his body protectively, holding me close as he rested his chin on my shoulder. I hugged back; a strange feeling washed over me, and, I wasn't quite sure what it was. I mean, it wasn't love; love was all in someone's head…that had been scientifically proven. Love by definition was the emotion of affection and personal attachment. If this feeling was really what I was thinking it was, then I guess this is wha it felt like right. A need to be around that person, wanting what's best for them…even if it may not be the best for you, "We're doing this thing tonight." He mumbled, my eyes widened as I pulled out of his grasp, my hands gripping his shoulders as I looked at him with a surprised expression.

"What-what about Lincoln?" I stammered, feeling guilty. If he was willing to leave his brother behind for my well-being then I was going to feel like the worst person in the world, let alone knowing that if he did leave without Lincoln tonight…that there was no chance of getting him out of here. He would have failed his brother, and would have I.

"Don't worry about that. It's taken care of." He reassured me, my breath hitching in my throat. Tonight, I tried to keep the smile off of my face; tonight I was going to be free, tonight I was getting out of this place…tonight couldn't have come sooner. It was only a few moments later that Michael said that he had to leave, reassuring me that everything was falling perfectly into place. I sat there for a few more moments, basking in my own happiness, but, happiness didn't last long in a place like this. A whistle from the open cell doors gained my attention.

"So Sweetpea, how'd it go? We still leavin' tonight?" he pressed, I didn't want him anywhere near me. Before he could get to the bottom bunk that I was still seated on, I had gotten up, stopping him in his tracks as I nodded; I didn't have to say anything, he smiled, clapping his hands together once. I could tell he wanted to shout, scream, maybe even to a victory dance. He pointed my direction with one long slender finger before he began to back out from the cell, a smile still plastered to his face.

"PI! Let's do it!" Bellick's voice boomed. I closed my eyes momentarily, taking a deep breath as the buzzing filled the air, the iron bars sliding apart like the sea spreading for Moses. This was it, I'd spent the last few hours sitting in that cell, thinking over everything I was going to do when I got out of here. I had already made sure that my journal was tucked away in my work clothes; I could just leave that behind. David looked up from the magazine he was reading, well, not really reading, mostly looking at…you couldn't really read porn. I heard him scoff as I began to walk towards the gate; I had to admit, I didn't know this kid too well, but, I'd miss him. Well, a least his personality.

"You talk to ya' boy about hookin' be up yet, bon-bons?" he asked, hopefulness in his voice as he jumped down from the top bunk. I turned and looked at him as I stepped one foot out of the cell, realizing that I was one step closer to getting out of here.

"No, David, I haven't." I answered meekly, "Um, I'll see you later, okay?" I said, turning and looking at his small frame as he began to retreat towards his bunk, going back to his magazine. I bit my bottom lip as I continued to stray away.

"Yo, bon-bons; why do I get the fellin' that your sayin' goodbye to me, yo, you only in PI?" he asked, I peeked my head back inside the cell and looked up at him, smiling slightly.

"Well, I-uh- I guess you just never know when your last day is, David. Especially in a place like this." I answered, a saddened tone creeping its way into my words. He nodded his head; he looked as if he was actually considering the thought, really pondering it.

"True dat, true dat."

**Emily Pov**

Seems that the protest decided to start without me; chants of 'thou shalt not kill' rang though the air as I stepped out of my car, looking around. It wasn't a large group of people my any means, but, it was enough to cause extra security to be stationed everywhere. I looked around, seeing only one news crew; and a black car…not the one from Dunkin Doughnuts either, sat on the other side of the parking lot…two shady looking women sitting in the front seats, dark sunglasses covering their eyes.

**End Pov**

"So, Mr. Pied Piper. What's the play?" T-bag asked as we began our work on the guard's room, we couldn't just sit there and do nothing until Michael gave us to ok to go ahead with the plan, we all knew that. I glanced over my shoulder as I continued to help pull the drywall up.

"We do what we always do." Michael answered, working on his own bit of the wall. My limbs quivered at the thought of getting out of this place, I couldn't believe it was actually happening now. "Pretend to be working. Be model citizens, until the time comes."

"And that'd be?" T-Bag pushed the issue, leaning against the crowbar as it rested against the table.

"Nine o'clock." Michael answered, not even bothering to look back at the pale, sickly looking man. I knitted my brows together and stopped working on the wall, confused. Tier time was at nine, PI shuts down at five, and we only get one hour in here to do our work. T-Bag must have realized that same thing.

"You seem to be forgetting the fact that PI shuts down at five, Pretty." He pressed, venom lacing each word. He wanted out of here as much as we did, I began to wonder if Michael had tricked us in to thinking that we were getting out of here tonight. No, he wouldn't do that… at least I didn't think he would.

"We have to make sure it doesn't, don't we." I couldn't see it in his eyes that he hadn't thought this far ahead. Sighing I turned and continued working on my half of the wall, all of us were tired, and running out of hope that we were getting out of here tonight, setting the crowbar down I gently took the plywood from the wall I was working on, stumbling a bit as I let it drop to the ground. I was not in any way, shape, or form a Plummer nor did I have knowledge of the pipe that lay beneath it. I wiped sweat from my brow as C-Note began to pester Michael again, asking how he planned to get us to stay in here until nine when PI was almost over, I could sense T-Bag getting a little uneasy too. I looked at the pipe, squinting before a little idea of my own popped into my head. I hadn't contributed anything to this escape except for a few mistakes…now it was time to make a mistake worth making.

"Hand me that hammer." I asked turning to face the rest of them; Sucre looked at me, confused. I looked at him, widening my eyes in that 'just do it already' manner as I shook my hand at him, beckoning for the inmate to hand me the tool. He reluctantly did so; it felt heavy in my hand as I sighed looking at the pipe again.

"What is she doing?" Sucre asked quietly, I licked my chapped lips slightly before taking a deep breath. I remembered my dad trying to fix the pipe in the kitchen once upon a time ago; in any other circumstance I would have laughed at the memory, but now, I was just trying to remember the best place to hit it so it would do the job right; I had to learn from my dad's mistakes.

"I don't know." Michael answered skeptically. Sighing out slowly, I lifted the hammer into the air, slamming it against the pipe as best I could. I didn't know if I was even strong enough to make a dent in the led, but, I had to try. Seeing that it did some damage I swung again. I could hear the inmate's gaps of terror, fearing that the guards would find out about this now. C-Note was the first to make a comment, saying how I was crazy. I hit the pipe again, this time getting the result that I wanted. The led burst sending a shower of cold water over the entire crew. I covered my eyes as the cold water blasted onto my face, dropping the hammer onto the ground.

We all sat on the floor. Bellick paced the room, his voice booming about how irresponsible we were; after he had learned that I was culprit of the 'mistake' he ranted about how woman were only good for cleaning and sex, I rolled my eyes. I wasn't a feminist by any standard, but, I didn't like being talked about in such a degrading manner. I looked down my lap, pretending to be broken down by the statements he was throwing around.

"Tell you what. You and all your Companeros here aren't stepping outside until every damn molecule of water is out of this place." He bellowed, informing us that we were going to spend the night in the place, waiting for the water to clear up. We all moaned and groaned with agitation as the CO's left, leaving us to do our job. Once the door was closed, I left out a sigh of relief, trying to keep the smile off my face as the rest of the inmates began to laugh as well. Michael placed a hand on my shoulder, giving it a small squeeze before standing up, Sucre ruffled my hair as he helped me up from the soaked ground…now we wait.

**Emily Pov**

"You're saying that someone's killing these people off?" the news anchor repeated; I had been listening intently to the news casting that was going on only a few feet away from me. I recognized the brunette woman from the first day that Cassandra and I had came and visited Erica in this place. I had learned some valuable things eavesdropping, I guess it really wasn't eavesdropping though, I showed my school id to the producer; she must have thought it was a press id, being too busy to actually look at it closely. Thank god for that.

"I'm trying to say that somebody is trying to hide what really happened, what the truth about Terrace Steadman really was." My jaw dropped, I knew it. I knew this was some crazy government secret, turning I quickly walked back to my car. Locking the doors immediately as I put the car in park, backing out of the parking space quickly; that man, from the grocery store, he wasn't just some ordinary citizen…he worked for them. Shit, what had I gotten myself into to…more importantly…what had Erica gotten herself into.

**End Pov**

Nine o'clock came faster than anyone of us had expected. On the dot, we had all ran though the necessary arrangements; pulling the carpet up we moved the table out of the way, Westmorland jammed the door shut with a crowbar before joining us around the hole. My heart beat against my chest rapidly, this was it. There was no turning back down, I was scared, and I think all of us were. We each realized that if caught we all go at least fifteen more years added to our sentences, if that happened; well, I'd kill myself. Even if it didn't mean that I would be stuck in here with Michael for twenty-five years, I just- I couldn't even imagine what that would be like. Once Michael was down in the hole, I followed slowly. Sucre held my hands as he helped me lower myself into the cavern, dust and rock floating up my nose. Like they say…freedom isn't free, it always came with a price. It didn't take us long to get to our destination; the maintenance room. I stood at the end of the rope that was descended down into the room, watching as the rest of them made their way up

"Alright, your turn, _mami_." Sucre approached me smiling, slightly holding around the waist as he helped me get a good grip on the rope. I remembered having to do this in middle school, climbing the rope during physical education class; I never did make it to the top. In this case, it wasn't the height that scared me, it was the fact that the searing pain in my side had returned. I kept on though, willing my body to withstand that pain; this pain was worth getting out of this place. Once I reached the top I stretched my hand out, reaching for anything to grab a hold of that I could pull my self up into the room with. A hand caught mine a moment after, pulling me up though the squared hole that at grate used to sit atop. I smiled as Michael lifted me from the hole; a real smile was plastered across his face.

"This is really happening?" I panted as he pulled me the rest of the way out, my arms quivering from holding onto the rope that long. He nodded his head and looked at me, resting a hand on the side of my face.

"Yeah, this is it." He smiled, pushing a few strands of sweat drenched hair behind my ear as he looked at me. So, maybe this is what love feels like. Butterflies swam in the pit of my stomach, and my heart beat with much anticipation. He helped Sucre up next; he was beaming like an idiot by the time he got up here. He smiled at me and pulled me into a hug as he laughed, I hugged him as well; understanding the overwhelming feeling all too well.

"We're getting' out of here, _mami, _we're really getting out of here_._" He sounded like a child on Christmas morning. Suddenly, a feel of tension and anxiety filled the room. It was one of those feelings that you suddenly get when something is too good to be true. Pulling out of the hug, Sucre and I both looked up in Michael's direction as he stood atop a metal cage, examining the pipe as he pressed his hand against it, eyes watering.

"They replaced it." He whispered. Our smiles fell away instantly, each of us not fully understanding what he meant but it couldn't be good. "Son of a bitch. He's there." He whispered, referring to Lincoln. He had somehow gotten him into the infirmary where the initial escape was going to take place. This plan just didn't want to work, I looked down towards the floor as Michael continued to try and pull the pipe down from the ceiling; I didn't join in the attempt, instead I sniffled like a little bitch, crying over something that I should have been helping with. I guess upset was the right word to describe how I was feeling right now, furious, sad, scared; hell, we had all stopped our ruckus when we heard a pair of keys jingling from outside the door, a few moments later, the ok was given to continue with the job…but to no avail.

"Michael?" I asked, looking up as he continued to stare at the pipe; his bottom lip quivering slightly, eyes glazed over with unshed tears of anguish. "Michael?" I repeated, "What's-talk to us, come on. Please."

"It can't be done." He answered slowly; I closed my eyes, tears slipping from them as he slowly got down from the small metal rack he had been standing on. I couldn't blame him; fate just didn't agree with the things that we wanted to get done. I just had to live with that fact. I couldn't say the same for the rest of them though; Westmorland was the only one that didn't look like they were about to kill Michael. "It's too thick. I'm so sorry; we're not getting out of here." I looked down at the ground as Sucre and C-Note both ran their hands over their heads. I did the same, wiping my tears away slowly. Michael looked devastated as he looked towards the ground, apologizing over and over again to me, saying that he was sorry to each and every one of us.

"Unfortunately, Pretty," that cold voice rang; I had started to wonder where T-Bag had gone, he was awfully quiet. I gasped as I felt an arm wrap around me, pulling me against their chest. I was going to protest, do anything I could until I felt the cool sensation of metal against my neck, pricking the flesh. I held my breath, "That ain't an option." I locked eyes with Michael, the gleaming metal of the shank in the little bit of moonlight that streamed into the room stopped him dead in his tracks.

**A/N: This chapter is just too incredibly long; I sincerely apologize. I realize that the way Emily hears about the plan at the protest isn't thoroughly explained, it's meant to be that way. She just so happened to see the news crew and decided to snoop, plus, I didn't think adding the whole interview was necessary. Still not sure how I feel about this chapter :/**


	31. Bye Bye Birdy

**A/N**: Thanks, once again, for all the reviews/favorites/subscriptions; they really do make my day! Ugh, I wanted to have this one out earlier, but, I've been snowed in the past two days (sipppin' on hot chocolate, munchin' on gingerbread cookies, and decorating for the Christmas season!) I promise this chapter will not be as long as the last one was.

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners. **

**Recap:** _"Unfortunately, Pretty," that cold voice rang; I had started to wonder where T-Bag had gone, he was awfully quiet. I gasped as I felt an arm wrap around me, pulling me against their chest. I was going to protest, do anything I could until I felt the cool sensation of metal against my neck, pricking the flesh. I held my breath, "That ain't an option."_

Nothing good could come of this. My bottom lip trembled violently as sharpened edge of the shank pressed against my jugular; one swipe and I was done for. The cold metal pressed against my neck sent shivers all over, a few tears gathered at the corner of my eyes as I thought about the pain I was about to endue. I bit my tongue to keep from whimpering, thinking he'd let me go if I was quite enough, if I didn't put up a fight. How wrong was I. He pressed the shank against my next again, readjusting it so that the tip was now sticking into my throat, it pierced the skin ever so lightly, just enough to inflict the smallest amount of pain. I blinked my frightened tears away and looked straight ahead at the group; I was surprised to find that T-Bag and I's chests moved in union, both of us breathing heavily…he was just as afraid as I was. The rest of the group was speechless, but, not at all surprised by the skinny inmate's actions, Michael, however, seemed more afraid than T-Bag and I were. He took a step towards us slowly, holding out his hand in a sign of peace, begging him with his eyes to hand me over. T-Bag refused.

"Unless," Michael breathed, his feet continued to carry him closer to us, but each time he took a step forward, T-Bag took a step back, his grip on my tightening as he drug me with him. "You're gonna use that shank to take out the pipe, put it away." To the rest of the con's it probably sounded like an order, but I knew the hidden meaning behind his words, and it wasn't what he said that tipped me off about it, it was the way he said it. I'd never seen anyone put so much emotion into one sentence in my whole life. Michael abruptly stopped his advances towards us when T-Bag pressed the blunt end of the shank against my neck again, grabbing a fistful of my hair with his other hand as he yanked my head back; his lips dangerously close to my ear. My heart race quickened, my palms sweating from the anticipation.

"I'm gonna put this in Sweetpea's neck if you don' get us outta here." He threatened; spit from his out burst littered my neck as he pressed it against the flesh harder. The malice in his voice showed that he wasn't lying. This wasn't just some stint to get what he wanted, he was serious, and I had no doubt he would feel any remorse after it was all lover. I bit my bottom lip again, my teeth threatening to break the cracked skin.

"T-Bag, let's bring it down a peg." Sucre tried to reason with the irate murder. T-Bag jerked me in Sucre's direction; actually, I didn't know what direction I was being flung around in, my eyes wouldn't open for anything. If he did do this, if he did slash me right here…I didn't want to see the look on the other's faces, especially not Michael's. T-Bag spat a few obscenities and racial slurs in the Puerto Rican's direction, before I could feel my body being turned around again, the knife never moved an inch.

"Remember, Pretty," he began, I instantly knew he was talking to Michael. My eyelid's unwillingly opened upon hearing his nickname that apparently T-Bag had bestowed upon him; it was quite fitting for a man that looked like that. Michael's eyes were overflowing with concern as he held his fists down by his sides, his jaw tightly locked, looking completely helpless. "I'm servin' life plus one." He breathed out heavily, almost in a pant. I was elated to know that he was loosing steam, but I couldn't let my guard down now, especially not when the tip of a well crafted instrument was at my neck, waiting on it's master to give it the go ahead to do its job. "So, if I get busted for attempted escape I'm gonna throw in a homicide, no problem. That's like a parking ticket to me." I swear I could hear laughter in his voice.

"Please, T-Bag," I mumbled, my voice almost a whisper as I felt the end of the shank move up and down with every word that vibrated from my throat. He jerked my head back again, ordering me to shut up, I obeyed quickly. This was one situation that couldn't be negotiated with; I had two options of escape: Die, or wait for T-Bag for spontaneously have a change of heart…that could take decades to achieve though. The tension in the stuffy room was further heightened as the sound of jingling keys filled the small room. All was silent; no one spoke, no one moved, and no one breathed. My eyes darted towards the door as the clicking of the lock sounded…someone was coming; two feelings washed over me at once, actually, it was probably more than two. Fear, Relief, and Nervousness all rolled up into one. T-Bag gritted his teeth together in a menacing scowl as he realized that I wasn't worth the risk of getting caught. He shoved me forward, the shank leaving my neck instantly as Michael's hands reached out, groping to get a hold of my prison clothes as foot steps sounded. My hands shook from the previous situation as he quickly, and quietly, pushed me behind a pair of huge crates; I was surprised that he couldn't be seen behind them, I was sure he was too tall. I pressed my back to the wooden bodes and brought my knees up to my chest as Westmorland's body quietly landed beside me, taking the same position I was in. My chest rose and feel heavily, my mouth agape as I tried to keep my breath from escaping its confines, at least until who ever was in this room had left. Michael placed a hand on my shoulder reassuring, trying to calm me down. I initially jumped at his touch, but, after realizing it was him I closed my eyes and held my breath, my hand somehow, and completely on it's own, reached up and placed it over his, squeezing lightly.

"Hey, Keith, come check this out!" the person hollered. I wasn't sure what he had found, but I continued to hold my breath, praying to god that it wasn't anything that could potentially tip him off about our attempt. When the man's partner didn't answer, he proceeded in calling him again. "Keith?" I listened quietly as the man's foot steps began to retreat back towards the door, attempting to find his friend. Not a second later had the rest of us reviled our hiding places, each and every one of us scattering like roaches, trying to get the hell outta there as soon as possible. If I thought prison was the last place I wanted be, well, then that just changed; the maintenance room was diffidently the last place I wanted to be right now. My hand fell from Michael's shoulder as he helped me up from the floor, practically dragging me towards grate; we were aborting this mission.

"We got to go." Westmorland announced, his voice daring anyone to challenge his order, we all knew we couldn't stay here, so, no objections were encountered. "Now. Give me that rope." I watched as Sucre quickly handed him the thin rope from his pocket, the older man then proceeded, with T-Bag's help, in tying it off on one of the racks. I watched as one by one the inmates slithered down the thin piece of string. I turned to inform Michael that they had all made it down, but I stopped, watching as he leaned against the metal rack, his head buried in his arms. He suddenly looked up at the pipe; the only thing that was between him and his brother, the single most person that he loved. I could see it in his face, pooling in those blue eyes; he was seriously considering gripping that pipe again, arms wrapping around the black metal as he tried to rip it from its concrete chokehold.

"Michael," I said quietly, placing the palm of my hand against his back, sweat from his heavily padded shirt soaked my fingers, his eyes never left the pipe; it was almost as if he and Lincoln were somehow communicating with each other, silently. "Michael," I repeated again, this time he moved. His head turned so that he was facing me, eyes dull and heavy as sweat beaded upon his forehead. "Come on, we've gotta go." A few moments later I found myself dangling from the rope, my hands moving one after another as I propelled myself down the thing string. Fingers chaffed from the weaving, red and sore, Sucre helped me down. The travel though the underground tunnel felt as if it took shorter than longer the second time around, but, I had to admit my back was beginning to cramp up from it behind hunched over so far. Sucre was the first one up when we reached the break room, my heart beat against my chest as I gripped Michael's hand as he lifted me from the hole, pulling me from the cavern. I sat up and looked around momentarily, noticing that we were one short.

"Where's West-"but before I could finish my observation, Sucre's voice said the same thing, his accented words loud as it echoed off the walls as he shouted down into my hole. My blood ran cold as the old man replied, stating that he was caught on something in the tunnel. I look at Michael, our expressions mirroring each others; concerned not only for the wellbeing of the inmate, but, also for the wellbeing of this plan…and this privilege. We were lucky to even still be here, with Abruzzi being out of the picture and all. "We've got to help him." I pleaded, my muscles cracking as I positioned myself to venture down into the hole once more, whatever he was stuck on down there was obviously something he couldn't get out of without some help. My legs dangled over into the hole just as Michael grabbed my arm roughly; pulling me away from his edge, in chorus with his actions, a banging on the door erupted; abruptly halting my current state of mind. The five of us knew exactly who it was. Inmates weren't allowed to be out after dark, hell; we were supposed to be in our cells an hour ago it seemed. The same routine was issued, the quick doing away of evidence of our lack of work, and the understated hiding of our escape hatch commenced quickly, the only knew addition was that we were going to have to some how hide the fact that we were a worker short. The crowbar that was holding the interior door shut fell from the handle as the pulling of the door increased in instability; Bellick's beet red face came into view first, his lips pushed together in a straight line as she glanced around at all of us, more angry than suspicious.

"Why was this door locked?" he demanded.

"It wasn't locked, boss." T-Bag quickly piped up, that was the only valuable thing I could see in his man; he could lie straight to your face and you'd never know it, it was like he wrote the handbook on perfect lying. "The fan kept pushing it open. So we just had to wedge it closed." From the look on Bellick's face, I knew he didn't believe a word the fox said.

"You've been in here all night, not doing a damn thing." He accused. "A bunch of shiftless, no-good convicts." He looked straight at me as he spoke, letting me know that I was no longer the respected girl that I had walked in here as. As far as he was concerned I was one of them now, I couldn't shake the feeling that that's how I would see myself for the rest of my life, no matter if I got out of this place or not. "And all five of ya, get you asses back to cell block." I looked down at the ground, pretending to be hurt and conflicted by his harsh words, but, it wasn't that. I didn't want him to see the fear flash though my eyes as he countered, hopefully he wouldn't realize his mistake. No sooner did he leave that we had Westmorland out. He groaned slightly as C-Note and I helped him up from the hole, he whispered something about being too old for this, making the both of us crack a smile at his unbroken spirits.

Just as quickly as Bellick had come, he was back, a fire alight in his eyes. He glanced around the room suspiciously he took a few more steps forward. His head moving around like a bloodhound sniffing for its prize. "You seem to be one light." He stated in an accusing manner. Almost as if he was rising from the dead, Westmorland stood up, making his presence known.

"Right here boss." He informed him, Bellick looked taken back for a few seconds before he retreated, deciding that arguing with us wasn't wroth his while. It would be a lie, and an understatement to say that I was disappointed; not with Michael, but with this whole plan…with myself. It was all starting to come back to me know. I can't even count how many people that truly loved and cared about my wellbeing begged me not to do this, it was like they knew something terrible was going to happen, I guess it was inevitable, though. David had nagged and nagged me once I got back to cell block that evening, asking me all these questions about why I didn't come back to the cell earlier, what we were doing in there; it was quite annoying, he should have gotten the hint when I answered with a short 'yes' and 'no', nothing else.

**Emily Pov**

I tossed again, for the hundredth time that night, well, morning now. I could hear the birds chirping from outside the window. I never did care much for the sound of nature, especially not this early in the morning. Groaning I lifted my head from the beige colored pillow that lay under my head, my eye still hadn't readjusted to the fluorescent light from the numbers that seemed to dance in front of my eyes, but, I could faintly read what they said; eight-thirty. Anyone else would have deemed this somewhere in between, but to me, it was too damn early. Knowing that getting back to sleep was close to impossible, I sat up, letting the matching blankets pool around my waist as I raised my arms over my head, reaching towards the sky as my mouth opened in a very unattractive yawn. I momentarily rubbed the sleep from my eyes and slammed my hand back down onto the bed sheets, cursing as my wrist hit the black remote that lay beside me. I picked up the rectangular object and tossed it to the side as the television's light washed over me; I squinted in its bright rays as if it was a star exploding.

The man on the screen was familiar in a sense; he was a very round man, with a silvery white beard, thin lips, his hair slicked back. It was scenery behind him that caught my attention though. The prison loomed behind him like an omen, watching over his shoulder as the news crews huddled around him like a camp fire, itching for answers. _"__I'm here with Henry Pope, who is the warden of Fox River Penitentiary, where Lincoln Burrows is scheduled to die by electrocution at 12:01am tomorrow. Warden Pope, can you tell me what's gonna happen in the next few hours?"_ The reporter on the television asked, I was suddenly quite awake and aware of my surroundings. Grabbing the remote from where I had tossed it only a few moments ago I hit the volume button, not caring if the neighbors complained.

"_There are strict Department of Corrections guidelines that govern every aspect of an execution. Measures taken to make sure that the process goes as smoothly as possible."_ He answered, his hands held behind his back as he spoke, his demeanor stock still, his voice confident and calm. I shook my head slowly, closing my eyes. I didn't understand why I felt an inclined need to do something about this, but I did. The need to be apart of something that could help somebody else. That's when it occurred to me, use your meddling skills for the greater good, go down there, make a scene, do anything possible to stop this from happening, besides, I wouldn't only be helping Burrows…I'd be helping Erica as well. I ignored the rest of the broadcast as I jumped up from the bed, rummaging though the closet quickly and pulling out anything I could find. If I wanted to get in there I had to do something first, I had to get an ID; they wouldn't be letting anyone in without one…and I knew just where to get one.

"_Does that mean you believe he's innocent?"_ I heard the reporter ask, skepticism playing in the woman's voice. I turned back towards the television as I finished pulling my pants on, awaiting the man's answer with much anticipation. If he did, then I hope he felt rotten with Lincoln was killed…

"_It means I believe in the process, but I don't relish the prospect of taking another man's life. Whether it's just or not, there's no joy that lies before us today."_ He answered, somewhat in a dignified manner…and the sad thing was, I kind of believed him.

**End Pov**

"You're mad at me, aren't you?" Michael questioned his voice low and pained as we sat on his bunk. It was our free hour, and consequently, time for my daily meds and check ups for Tancredi; at the beginning I liked her company, but now, I couldn't even explain it. She was so; I don't even know the words to describe it. She always looked so suspicious when I came around, like she knew something. I looked up from my lap slowly, turning so that I was facing him; I could see regret pooling in his eyes. I shook my head, it was true…I wasn't mad at him, how could I be? He just risked everything to get us out of here, sure, it didn't work, but it was the though that counted.

"No," I said quietly, placing a hand on his arm. "I'm not mad at you, of course not." I reassured him, squeezing his arm gently. He looked straight ahead at the wall and placed his other hand on top of mine, squeezing it tightly. This was a hard day for him; I couldn't even imagine knowing that someone I loved was going to die, and not being able to do a think about it. "How-how long is it until-"my voice trailed off, I wasn't even able to finish that sentence.

"Sixteen hours." He answered, taking a deep breath in though his nose before he looked back in my direction, his hand still gripping mine. I didn't mind it though. He was quite for a few moments, like he was contemplating something; that's never a good sign, means he's got another plan. "Erica," he way he said my name was desperate, almost like I was his last resort "I- I need you to do something for me." I closed my eyes and bit my bottom lip slightly, of course; the pawn was being played once again. I took my hand back from his grasp, the warm feeling distant as he looked at me. I opened my eyes, not saying a word. "Theres only one person who can really stop this execution." He informed me.

This was a stupid idea, probably the worst that Michael had ever come up with. I was surprised to see the Lincoln was still in the infirmary when I arrived there. Patterson went though his normal routine as he uncuffed me; Lincoln looked over, glancing though the window. He's eyes hung low, his back arched as he sat on the exam bed, probably thinking about what it would feel like, you know, when he- I couldn't even finish the thought. I looked away as he caught my attention; I had come here to help him, and I'd failed. Dr. Tancredi opened the door of the exam room just across from his, signaling for me to come in. I did so, slowly though, glancing back at the room that Lincoln occupied. Sara didn't look at all pleased, harshly shoving the Dixie cup of pills in my direction before handing me a cup of water to wash them down with. I took a deep breath, knowing that this was the only chance I had to get this done.

"Sara?" I asked as I let my feet dangle over the edge of the bed, I glanced in Lincoln's direction quickly.

"It's Dr. Tancredi. Miss. Boswell, if you wouldn't mind." She spat, never looking up from her file as she flipped though the pages over and over again. I was taken back by the venom in her words, she'd never spoken to me like this, and quite frankly, I didn't like it. Straightening my posture, I blinked a few times before continuing. Maybe she just had a bad morning.

"Okay, um, Dr. Tancredi. Um-"I stuttered again, holding my hands in my lap as I tried to remembered Michael's words from earlier. "Could you talk to your father? I mean- about Lincoln." I asked my voice growing small with each syllable that left my mouth. Dr. Tancredi stopped reading through the files abruptly, placing them back down on the desk before she turned towards me.

"Excuse me?" she laughed dryly, almost as if she hadn't heard me right. She shoved her hands in her white coat pockets and glared at me for a few moments, shaking her head in disappointment. "Erica, let me ask you something. Did Michael put you up to this?" she accused. My eyes widened, as I looked at her.

"No." I lied, shaking my head as I messaged my wrists; they had grown chaff due to the over use of handcuff's that this place enforced. Sara narrowed her eyes at me, biting on her bottom lip slightly as she began to walk towards me, her strides slow and intimidating.

"Miss. Boswell, don't play me for a fool. I know what's going on." I furrowed my brows, what in the fuck was she getting at? I shook my head, trying to get everything straight as she went on, his lips pushed in a straight line and stern look over taking her usually soft features. "Erica, what kind of relationship are you and Mr. Scofield having?" My eyes widened, and I almost chocked on my spit; not that I thought insinuating that was disgusting in any way, shape, or form, but the fact that she seriously had convinced herself of his made me sick to my stomach. It was almost like no one believed that some one could be caring and nice to another person unless they got something out if it for themselves. She went on as I didn't answer, my lips pushing in a straight line as I listened to her babble. "Erica, why else would you be up here, asking me that, I'm not stupid. If you and Scofield are doing anything, you need to tell me, right now." She demanded. "This is no place for a child to-"

"Dr. Tancredi," I stopped her mid sentence; my cheeks red with anger and embarrassment, my voice loud and angry. I couldn't believe she would think I was doing something like that, especially in a prison, I mean, of course I know some of the things that went on during the night, but seriously? And when would I even find the time…or the privacy. "Are you seriously implying that?" I asked, venom lacing each word, hurt that she would even take me for a person to lower myself down that low. She looked at me with that expression that parents always gave their kids when they thought they were lying, her chin tucked towards her neck as she crossed her arms over her chest and somewhat glared at me. I shook my head again, this time standing up from the exam table, feeling betrayed. "Look, I came here to clear a man's name, not sleep with his brother." I spat, watching through the window as Lincoln was escorted from this room by two CO's, shackles enclosing this wrists and ankles; Patterson began to walk towards the room that Sara and I occupied, cuffs ready. "Look, I know where your father stands on the death penalty; but this isn't about the morality of it." I said quickly, just wanting to get my point across. She raised her head, chin tilting up towards the ceiling as she looked at me with stern eyes, they some what softened for a split second. "This is about killing an innocent man." My eyes narrowed as I shook my head from side to side slowly, "Surely your father can't be in favor of that."

"Erica," Dr. Tancredi said lowly as Patterson opened the door, my back still turned from towards the CO as I awaited Sara's last words. I could tell by the way that she held up her finger for him to wait that he was probably annoyed by my lack or readiness, "If I'm the one asking clemency for Mr. Burrows, then he won't get it."

I think telling Michael that Sara basically refused the request to have Lincoln's file looked at by the governor was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do; I'll never forget the look of hurt that crossed over his features, feeling guilty that he couldn't save his brother, knowing that in just a mere few hours Lincoln would be gone from here, and he wasn't coming back. Michael held his face in his hands as she bent forward, his back arched as he inclined his head towards the dewy grass. Jack Frost had finally moved into town, brining forty degree weather and the occasional snow shower, thank god the prison provided us with protective clothing. "He doesn't even know what happened." He blamed himself again, sitting up slowly and shoving his hands into his pockets. I shivered as another cold wind blew though the yard, chilling me to the bone. I wrapped the jack around me tightly, sniffling as I felt a sneeze coming on, but it never came.

"Michael, he knows you tried." I reassured him, sniffling as I looked over in his direction. His nose was red from the cold, eyes watery as the wind continued to blow, or a least that's what I think it was from, could have been from him crying; I didn't ask though, deciding that if he really wanted me to know that he would tell me. He looked at me, jacket pulled tightly around him as he hunched his shoulders.

"You think so?" he asked, moving down the bleaches so that he was sitting on the same panel as I was, expertly blocking my frail and already frozen body from the wind. I sighed silently in relief.

"He's your brother. He knows you at least tried something." I reassured him again, a smirk playing at my lips. Of course Lincoln knew that he tried, he was Michael Scofield for Christ's sake.

"I promised I would get him out of here." He said again, running his hand over his beanie clad head, folding his hands in his lap. I looked away for a moment, catching T-Bag's eye as he slowly walked towards us; even though the wind was blowing, the chill that ran up my spine wasn't from that. If you hadn't noticed already I was terrified of him, it seemed every time I was around him that he was trying to kill me. I was scared that one of these days he was going to get lucky and actually succeeded in doing so.

"You promised a lot of people, Pretty." The slimy voice added, stepping up onto the bleachers, so he was standing in front of Michael and I. Sometimes I wished one of these other inmates would just take him out, I'm pretty sure I could put in a request for him to be taken care of…but then what kind of person would that make me?.

"Come on," I practically groaned, sick and tired of him always putting himself in our conversations, not to mention always finding a way to blame Michael for reasons why this plan still hadn't worked. "That's enough, alright?"

"This don't concern you, Sweetpea." He spat, tossing the baseball that was in his hand up the air. The white sphere shooting up towards the gray clouds that hung over head before it came back down, landing in his hand with a thump. He bent down so he could look Michael in the eye. They glared at each other, I could see it in Michael's face that he wanted to grab T-Bag by the collar and just get it over with, beat his face in until he was unrecognizable, not even dental records being able to find out who it was. "You don't just get a man's hopes up like that, Pretty, and Sweetpea here-"he clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth in disappointment, as he directed his words toward Michael. "You've done really messed that up." T-Bag was lucky that Rec time ended before he could get the rest of his little rant out, the bell rang signaling that it was time to go back to block, but that didn't stop him from making his point. "You owe me a ticket outta' here, Pretty," he tossed the ball up in the air again, catching it as it came crashing back down. "And I will collect."

**Emily Pov**

Emily what in the hell are you doing. I shoved my hands deeper into my pockets as I waited outside of the shady club, the bass thumbing and vibrating from the walls as I leaned up against it, I took my cell out and glanced at the time; this guy was already forty minutes late. Several people that walked into the already crowded club looked at me strangely, probably thinking I was a cop busting underage kids that snuck in through the back; I could care less about those kids, though. I just needed that ID and then I set. My breath turned to mist as I breathed out into the cold air, shivering. This was a terrible idea; I was in a terrible part of Chicago, a young girl, alone, in an ally way. There was only one person I knew that could make a legitimate Press ID; Leroy Smith. I'm not sure if he actually studied at the University or not, but, I always saw him hanging around there. I learned from, ironically enough, the daughter of someone that worked at Fox River that he had made her and her friends several fake ID's so that could gain access to some club down in New York City a few times. I glanced down the alley as a car pulled in, its headlights doused, windows tinted. My heart couldn't help but race, and my palms began to sweat; the man from the grocery store ran though my head, the two women I saw sitting in the car during the protest, the sunglasses… I breathed a sigh of relief when the window rolled down; a shady and twitchy looking black boy stuck his head out of the window, eyes darting around the alley before he jerked his chin in my direction.

"Yo. You Emily Wiklund?" he asked, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. I nodded quickly and came towards the car, looking both ways just as he did, my copper hair flowing in the breeze as I moved the strands away from my eyes. He nodded his head in agreement and motioned for me to get in. "Get in." I did so, hesitantly though; keeping my hand pressed on the travel size can of mace that was in my pocket. We drove for a few minutes, twenty at the most, before we came to a shady looking motel; several prostitutes hung outside in fur coats, hanging on the cars that were parked at various entrances. He got out of the car first, motioning for me to follow him; I did so again, very hesitantly, taking in the gritty scenes before me. He looked around for a moment before moving the curtain aside, his lanky body slipping though the large window. A few moments later he opened the door from the inside, stating that he didn't have a key and that his 'friend' had left the window open for him. The inside of the room did no justice for the outside; the wall paper was peeling, the trash can was overflowing with garbage and what looked like used condoms, and several porn magazines lay strewn about the room. "You got the money?" he asked, the beanie on his head flopping to the side as he held out his hand. I nodded and dug in my purse quickly for the seventy-five dollars that I owed the kid; he didn't look to be more than my age, maybe a little older.

"Why do you need this so bad anyway?" he asked from his spot at the desk. The kit he had for making these things was quite impressive; he first took a picture of me in front of the surprisingly well lit bathroom wall with one of this disposable cameras that came out in the early ninety's, you know, the ones that give you that small sticky picture? I brought one for my cousin several years ago. I watched as he placed it on one of the flimsy cards that he had laying on the wooden dresser, the small print next to him worked on the credentials part, a copy of an original one sat next to him so he could use it as a reference.

I shrugged my shoulders and leaned up against the wall, too afraid to sit down on the dirty sheets; they looked like they hadn't been cleaned in ages. Not knowing what kind of diseases probably festered within, I stayed away from them. He looked up at me as the printer finished with the sticky tape, the ink still hot and wet that he couldn't be touched for another few minutes. "Class project." I lied, "It's for Lincoln Burrows' execution."

"Girl," his voice sang in a warning tone, "You must one crazy or either messed up bitch to go watch something like that, especially in Fox River, yo. That place is fucked up." He continued on, blowing on the paper to dry the ink before he very carefully peeled it away from the adhesive, lowering it down onto the card. "My cousin's locked up in that bitch right now," he glanced back in my direction. "He says that got one fine bitch locked up in there," I could hear me humming happily to himself, my eyes bulging from my head; shit. I had to stay clam, if I started asking questions about that he'd know something was up. "I'm telling you," he growled happily, a throaty laugh emitting from his mouth "Dem' guys must be having a time with her." I could feel a lump rising in my throat, if anything like that happened, anything at all…Erica would have told me, right?

"That's impossible." I said definitely, hoping that he couldn't hear the breaking in my voice. "It's an _all male_ prison." The boy shrugged and placed the card into a clear badge protector, that was attached to a Channel 11 news lanyard; curtsey of E-Bay.

"He's probably lyin' anyway." He informed me; I breathed a sigh of relief. "Stupid bastard." He stood up from the chair, handing me the lanyard and sighing. "Think that's my best work yet." I looked at the badge, examining the professionalism of the work; Samantha Grayson of Channel 11 news was about to witness one of the most disturbing things anyone can witness.

**End Pov**

The lights flickered again, a few inmates jeered from their cells, almost as if they were awaiting the great Spartacus to enter the area, ready for battle. I rubbed my temples, completely distraught and numb to the fact that maybe this was what fate wanted; every attempt that was made to get Lincoln out of here was deemed futile. Every body says everything happens for a reason, what reason was there for someone to die? David got down from his spot on the top bunk, walking towards the iron bars as the lights flickered again. "Homes is about to get fried up." He observed, turning back around so he could face me. I ignored his comment, seeing as unforgivable to say something like that about another person that was about to die for something that he didn't even do. Yes, I'd done extensive research on the death of Terrance Steadman when I wrote that article on his sister. Some hacker on YouTube posted the surveillance tape online, something about it just didn't look right compared to other surveillance tapes that you see on those cop shows, it looked too well done. I looked back down at the Sudoku puzzle I was working on; I had to find out where in the hell this three and five go, I'd been working on it for over an hour. I only looked when I felt the bunk sink down beside me, letting me know that I had company. "Wat' ya' doin' bon-bons?" he asked, holding his hands in this lap, I sighed and looked at him, a goofy smile playing on his lips. I knew trying to explain it to him would be an all day thing, so I just gave him the short answer.

"Sudoku." I answered, before returning to the page, erasing the numbers again as I re-thought my strategy.

"Sudoku?" he questioned, scratching his head. "I thought that was sum' type shit that Jackie Chan does' yo." He laughed; I looked at him a small smile gracing my lips. This kid had a way of lightening any situation, I shook my head. "How you play it?" I licked my lips and sat the book down on the bed in between us.

"Each number can only appear once." I began to explain, remembering how my dad explained it to me when I was little. I still remembered when he brought it back from Japan back when I was five; of course, I was a little too young to do it back then. Back in the seventh grade the teacher passed out a work sheet for fun that had ten Sudoku puzzles on it; I finished every single one of them. "So, "I picked up the book and flipped to the front of it where all the easier puzzles were, "Like in this one," he scooted closer to me, out legs touching. I quirked an eyebrow, knowing full well what a teenage boy's mind was like; they only thought with one of their heads. "You see, the number nine can only appear in that column once; no matter if it's going vertically or horizontally." I explained, moving the book so he could see it better. He nodded, his lips pushing a straight line as he examined the puzzle, I could see he didn't really care though.

"So, uh-"he rubbed the bottom of his nose quickly, sniffling before he looked back at me, holding his hands in his lap. "What's goin' on with you and Scofield?" I contained the slew of curse words that were rising in my thought like bile, and tried to keep my eyes from rolling at the question; why did everyone assume something was going on? I continued to look at him raising an eyebrow at his questions.

"What do you mean?" I inquired, setting the pencil in the crease of the book and then closing it before I set it behind us. He shrugged his shoulders and looked at me, turning so that his body faced mine.

"You and him is always hangin' out; that's all." He said, biting his bottom lip as he waved his head to the side. I looked at him suspiciously; this isn't the first time he had asked about Michael, it was starting to bug me a little. If he wanted to know so much about him why didn't he just go ask him himself…they seemed to be on pretty good terms with each other?

"He's my friend, David." I stated. He looked at me, a flash of what looked like hurt or disappointment ran though his eyes for a moment.

"I'm your friend, and we never hang like that, girl." A pang of guilt hit my chest, he was right, I had considered this kid one of my 'allies' in this place, he wasn't a dangerous person at all, as so why he was even in here in the first place was a mystery; he never did tell me the whole story. He must have seen the look cross over my face; he smiled quickly, giving me a slap on the back. "I'm just trippin' wit' ya girl. I know we tight." He reassured me, I laughed slightly. My smile and laughter soon faded when he moved his head, inclining it towards mine; I was absolutely frozen. I didn't quite understand what he was doing until I felt something on my lips, my eyes bulging from their sockets. Like I said, teenage boys only think with one of their heads. I placed my hands against his chest, attempting to push the boy off of me as his lips continued to move against mine, usually this would have been a traumatic experience, but come on, it's Tweener; this kid was harmless. It was more awkward than anything, embarrassing even. I'd come to think of this kid as a little brother. Shoving as hard as I could his lips finally disconnected from mine, my cheeks burning red with embarrassment as he looked at me; a confused and somewhat hurt expression crossing his features; did he honestly think something was happening? Or was he just jealous of Michael? Not really intending for it to be so loud, but too lived to do anything this, I raised my hand. The palm of my skin stinging as it whipped across the side of this face; he looked at me, eyes distraught and wandering as he held the side of this face. I may be in prison, but I wasn't going to let someone walk all over me; especially not someone who was at least six years my junior.

**Emily Pov**

My heart beat against my chest as I entered the prison; it was almost as if everything, even nature knew what was about to happen. The wind had died down, the birds had retreated to their nests, and all was silent. I showed the CO at the gate my press ID, he looked down at the list of people that were scheduled to be there for the execution, and my alias was the last name on the list. He gave me the go-ahead, nodding his head in the direction of the inner gate that would lead to the parking lot that was reserved for things such as this. How would I be able to live with myself after this happened, knowing that I was about to watch a man endure one of the most painful executions known to humankind sent my stomach into a fit of flops and flips, a sickening feeling rising in my throat. The curtain was still closed, when I entered the small room, standing at the very back. It was set up like a stage; when the curtain opened the show would begin, and in a matter of minutes it would be over. I half expected the CO's to have popcorn and sodas lined up for the audience, seeing as they don't value their prisoners enough to feel one ounce of guilt. I moved out of the way as another man came into the room; wearing a beige jacket that was quite heavy on his lanky and tall frame, a cap adorned his head; I could see specks of silvery gray hair peaking from under it. He must have felt me staring; he turned, and my mouth fell open.

I knew him from somewhere; Mr. Boswell's funeral, that's where.

"_Erica, please come on out." I begged, as I sat against the bedroom door. Family and friends walked around the house, expressing their condolences to each other; especially Ms. Cassandra. Erica had ran to her bedroom as soon as she got home, saying that she just wanted to be left alone. I didn't understand it, when I was sad I wanted to be around people, I knew they would make me feel better. Than again, I wasn't the one who just lost my dad. I tapped on the door lightly again, crossing my little legs Indian style, the black funeral garb pooling out over my black stockings. "Erica, please. Your grandma made cookies for us, they're gonna get cold." I practically begged. I could heart her sniffling through the door as she replied with the same answer again; no, I just want to be alone. Go away, Emily. I huffed, finally giving up as I rested my back against the door. I looked up as footsteps approached; man looked down at me with sad eyes, and silvery white hair; reminded me of a very, very skinny Santa Clause. He crouched down and slowly lowered himself into a sitting position on the floor, his legs outstretched; I didn't know him, infact, I'd never seen him. I could only suspect that he was a friend of Mr. Boswell's…he had a lot of friends. "She won't come out." I whined. The man chuckled silently, looking down at his hands as he unfolded the napkin, handing me a decorated sugar cookie. _

"_She's upset." He explained to me as I bit into the morsel of food, savoring the taste of the red sprinkles that decorated the cutout snowman. He took a bite of his own cookie, and I noticed he had one left. He turned to the side and slowly placed the wrapped up food under the door of the bedroom. "Erica?" he asked quietly, "I brought you this. Your grandma says to eat it before it gets cold." I furrowed my brows together as I looked at the cookie that was wrapped up, noticing a teal blue piece of paper sticking out from under it. The man turned to me and gave me a small smile. "She'll come out. Trust me." _

"Mr. Charles?" I asked, a laugh bubbling up in my throat. It really was a small world, but, why was he here…at Lincoln's execution? He looked nervous for a moment, probably trying to remember who I was, I mean, it had been seventeen years since I'd seen him. When he didn't reply back I smiled. "It's me, Emily Wiklund. Erica's friend." I jogged his memory, his mouth fell open in a sigh as he looked me over again, finally remembering.

"Oh, oh, Yes, of course. I remember you. Wow, you've-you've grown up." He observed, I looked at him and smiled; I always hated it when people said that, yes, I know…I've developed at lot since I was seven years old. "What-what are you doing here, anyway?" I raised an eyebrow and looked at him, placing a hand on my hip.

"Me? I could be asking you the same thing, Mr. Charles. I thought you would have retried from journalism already." He looked down at the floor almost like something was wrong, shuffling his feet.

"Not in this economy." He replied. Our reunion was cut short as she sound of the curtains drawing open caught both of our attentions. Lincoln sat there, strapped down to an uncomfortable looking arm chair. A contraption so inhumane, I couldn't even describe it, sat atop his head. I looked away for a moment, knowing that this image would never leave my head as long as I lived. Mr. Charles removed the hat from his head and held it down in front of him, paying respects to the man that was bout to die before our eyes. I didn't know if the glass was actually a two way mirror; allowing us to see in, but not him to see out. Only when his lips began to move did I realize that he could see everything, and he seemed to be looking straight at us; mumbling words that I wish I could have heard. Only a second later did a piece of black cloth drape over his face, hiding it from the view of the few people that sat in the front row. I wasn't sure who they were, but I felt felt terrible knowing that it was probably people that loved him very much.

Suddenly the curtains closed, my mouth feel open; this wasn't supposed to happen. The man in the front row stood up, his hands gripping at the glass as he turned to the other that was sitting next to him. _"What's going on in there? What's happening?"_ he asked. I turned to face Mr. Charles again, to ask the same thing…but he was gone, vanished.

**A/N: Dun-dun-dun! Hope you guys could understand that part :) Tell me your thoughts on it, please & thank you! I really want to see if you guys can figure out the connection. Once again, not sure how I feel about this chapter; yes I say that everytime I post one of these lol. Only six more chapters until the finale!**


	32. Accidents Happen

**A/N**: I'm back! I deeply apologize for not updating this earlier, writers block hit as soon as the snow did. You'd think I would be inspired, being stuck inside all day right? But, being snowed in did give me time to plan out the sequel, not to mention to re-watch episodes of this amazing television show! Thank you: chase83, IceyKrystal, and misaria for reviewing, as well I give a big thanks to those of you that have stuck with this story since the beginning! Well, onwards with the story!

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners. All Star Wars references and quotes belong to the amazing George Lucas!**

My eyes continued to look upwards at the mattress that hung above me, David's weight pushing the ratty old thing towards my bunk; I was afraid that one of these nights that the thing was going to break, but, that wasn't what I was worried about at that moment. I had asked David five minutes ago what time he thought it was, he didn't answer, too preoccupied with the magazine full of naked woman flaunting their plastic body parts for the men that obviously had nothing better to do than gawk. I blinked, heart pounding against my chest as I tried to focus my mind on other things, but, nothing seemed to be helping. The fact that Lincoln Burrows was about to die was daunting in a sense, not only was Michael loosing something…but I was too; my freedom was on the line if Lincoln died tonight. I swallowed the lump in my throat as I realized how extremely selfish I was being at this point. How could I even be thinking about this, about escaping when the very reason I was in here was about to die. I didn't even want to start thinking about how Michael would be tomorrow, I could just picture it; his blue eyes dazed and hyaline as they starred into space, his jaw locked as he would try to keep the fear and sadness from his features, a lump probably would arise in his throat several times tomorrow, but, he wouldn't be able to show it in here…not in prison.

My mind wandered again, thinking back to Sara in the infirmary; she was the only other person that could stop this from happening, and she'd let him down…she'd let me down, after everything my mother had done for her. She didn't even know who I was, how in hell was she supposed to do favors for me. "David?" I asked quietly again, my hands resting on my stomach as I pulled the navy blue fleece blanket high onto me, shivering in disgust, my cheeks burning with embarrassment as I heard his grunts from above me; the mattress above me shifted to the side. If you thought being put in an all male prison was cruel and unusually, try having to listen to a teenage boy beat off right above you every single fucking night; it was really getting on my nerves, but, hey, who am I to say 'Can you please stop masturbating…it's gross.' I don't get that privilege or authority in here, especially when he's eighteen years old and can pull the whole 'I'm an adult' card. Although, I had on several occasions asked him to stop, or at least wait until tier time so I could leave him to do it in private; he would always retort with the same, disgusting, rude, and ignorant comeback 'why don't you just do it for me, bon bons…then we both get something out if it.' I swear his mouth was going to get him killed in his place. I rolled over on my side and mumbled under my breath as I placed the pillow over my head, contemplating on wheter or no I should smother myself to death right now. I just had to focus on something else, hopefully something happy. However, it was getting harder and harder to be optimistic in this place; I laid there for a few more minutes. David's grunts of satisfaction had weaned off now to a mere whimper as the mattress shifted above me again. After he did that he usually went to sleep and I didn't hear from him until the next day, which I was thankful for at the moment. It was eerily quiet, almost too quiet for my liking. Everyone knew that Lincoln was going to do today, it was no secret; I really needed to get a watch, not that I wanted to know his time of death or anything. In the back of my mind I still considered Sara one of the few people that I could trust in here, despite her newly found attitude towards me; I prayed that she changed her mind tonight…that she did show her father the file.

**Emily's Pov**

I pressed my back against the door as I closed it; flipping the light in the small apartment I watched the couches, television, and desk come into full view, illuminated by the energy saving lights that I had just installed in the room earlier that week. I dropped my purse on the the small stood that was positioned next to the door, the contents spilling out onto the floor as my aim was weakened by the lack of sleep, not the mention the state of shock that I was still lingering in. I kicked the shoes off, the press badge still clipped to my jacket as I flung the black fabric over the back of the couch. Something wasn't right; I could just feel it creeping though my bones, crawling beneath my skin. I looked at the clock that flashed on the kitchen stove; 1:00 am. I bit my bottom lip as I thought about what I was going to do, eye the phone intently as I walked towards the dark piece of plastic. Miss. Jones would be up at this hour, especially tonight. I just wasn't sure if she was at her own house, or living' it up at _someone_ else's place. If she thought that I hadn't caught on to her little adventures with the governor than she was stupid, no offence to my best friend, I just don't understand how she could be romping around with a public official while her daughter was wasting away in an all male prison; as in surrounded by a ton of horny, dirty, foul mouthed, gross, ugly, lonely, perverts and rapists. Fuck it, I didn't care if she was sleep or not. I grabbed the phone and held it to my ear, waiting for the dial tone to sound.

Nothing but silence.

I knitted my brows together and hung the phone up, eyes glancing around the room for a moment. Why wasn't my phone working? A chill ran up my spine a moment later, like I said, something was wrong. It wasn't because the room was cold, oh no, the room was almost a perfect seventy five degrees, and no draft. You know that feeling that you get when something just isn't quite right, or when something doesn't add up? Well, that was what I felt, coursing though my veins at the moment. Maybe I had just left the phone off the hook, it just need to charge, I tried to reassure myself as I picked up the phone with shaking hands. I hit the talk button and placed the receiver to my ear again…nothing but silence filled the void between the phone and my ear canal, not even a beep or the sound of an operator. I hung the phone up slowly, maybe it was just the phone company, I reassured myself again, slowly trudging towards my room, but, not before I glanced out of the window in the kitchen that over looked the street. Even the darkness, I could still make out the outline of a small black car sitting on the other side of the street…

**End Pov**

I was up well before the buzzer ran signaling that it was time for breakfast. The metal gates lid open like they always did, allowing the inmates to roam freely for a few minutes before they would be escorted down to chow. I rolled my eyes as David gave me a wink, he knew full well that I didn't get any sleep last night…but it wasn't his entire fault. I waited a few moments before I rose from my own bunk, letting the rest of the inmates pass by. Michael and Sucre usually met me at the cell; it was one of those bittersweet things. Knowing that if we got out of here I was never going to see any of them ever again, the three of us had formed this, well, I'm not really sure…I guess you could call it a bond, if you looked at it like that. We looked out for each other, which I was extremely grateful to have in a place like this. I pulled my hair into a loose pony tail and straightened out the fabric that covered my legs, un-wrinkling them as I stood up from the mattress, it creaked slightly. I slowly made my way towards the front of the cell, crossing my arms over my chest as I watched Michael and Sucre make their way down from the top level of the cells. He looked, much to my surprised, relieved. I knitted my brows together and exited the cell, looking both ways before I fully stepped out into the jungle; if T-Bag was standing anywhere near I usually went back in and waited for either the guards or Michael to come I and get me…I didn't trust the trifling piece of shit for anything. Thankfully he was no where in sight, seeing that it meant I had to go ahead I walked towards the pair as they reached the last bit of the steps; Sucre quickly changed course after saying a quick good morning to me, I wasn't sure where he was off to. Michael stood before me, hands in his pockets. "Morning." He said, his voice sleep deprived and low; something was obviously bothering him. I nodded a good morning to him before we began to slowly make our way towards the doors that led from cell block to the mess hall.

"Michael," I asked quietly, placing a hand on his arm to stop him from walking. Once I reached that door I would be whisked away to infirmary for my daily meds, and for my reprimanding from Dr. Tancredi. He stopped and looked at me with knowing eyes, he knew exactly what I was about to ask him. "Are you alright?" I asked softly, looking up at him before looking back at the guards, making sure they weren't going to rush us along anytime soon. He took a deep breath threw his nose and looked at me, wetting his lips before he spoke.

"Yeah, Erica, I'm-I'm fine." He answered, his voice strained. That was a lie; something was obviously wrong. "Come on." He tried to push me along, trying to force me to fall in with other inmates that were lagging behind. I stood my ground, never saying a word as I looked at him; there was obviously something wrong. I thought about it for a moment, maybe he was trying to play Lincoln's death off as no big deal; he didn't show his emotions much, it was only common sense that he wasn't going to wear his heart on his sleeve.

"What's wrong?" I asked again, "Is- is it Lincoln? Michael, I'm so sorry-"he cut me short with a small smile as he reassured me that everything was fine…and quite to my surprise…assuring me that Lincoln was fine. It wasn't until after I arrived in chow that Michael explained that that Lincoln's execution had been postponed again, but, for reasons unknown. I smiled inwardly, trying to contain the one that was spreading over my face as I pulled him into a hug; not only was Lincoln alive and well…but I was getting the hell out of this place. I couldn't help the feeling that arose in the pit of my stomach as Michael pulled me closer, hugging me despite the rude comments that the other inmates threw around, hell, I think even the guards were feeling a little uncomfortable with all the touching.

I stopped the thousandth time that morning; a snow storm had decided to, and much to my dismay, come though the good state of Illinois for a visit. Leaving at least an inch on the ground and it still hadn't stopped snowing. I sniffled as I brought my hands up to my nose, wiping away any unattractive dribble of snot or anything that might have found its way onto my face. The wind continued to blow the snow into my face, turning my nose a reddish color and chilling me to bone as it ate though my clothes; my teeth chattered as I helped C-Note move another bag of mulch to the wheel barrow that was stationed a few feet away. Not even the thing gloves that the prison provided us with were good, my hands stung as I rubbed them together, my body racking with shiver after shiver; I probably looked epileptic at this point. "What's wrong with you, girl?" C-Note inquired, already walking towards the other bag of mulch that needed to be loaded into the wheelbarrow and taken over to the shed. I rubbed hands together and walked towards the bag as well, knowing that being cold wasn't an excuse to not pull my weight.

"I'm-I'm fricking' freeze-freezing." My teeth chattered as the both of us picked up the bag, our effort paying off as the last of the bags was loaded into the barrow. C-Note rubbed his hands together and smiled at me, no matter how many times he tried to be friendly…he was one of the two people that I wasn't going to miss.

"You know what they say about weather in the Midwest," he went on, gripping the wheel barrow as he moved it out of the way so the rest of the crew could get done what they needed. "If you don't like it, wait an hour." I cracked a smile at his attempt to rub shoulders with me, it would take a hell of a lot more than just a sarcastic but true joke to get me to trust him…but it was s start. Once the barrow as moved I grabbed one of the shovels that was resting against another empty one; PI had the tiresome job of salting the walkways this morning, oh joy, right?

"We're still going through the infirmary and we're still going to do it from the guard's room," Michael began to explain to us. I looked up from the ground as I sprinkled salt onto the already wet and frozen concrete; remembering the days when I would wake up and look outside, happy to see the ground covered in white, but, even happier to see my dad outside shoveling, knowing that he didn't have to work in this stuff. "It's just the in-between that's gonna have to change." Here it comes…

"Whoa, whoa," C-Note protested, stopping his work as he held the shovel down by his side. "Why are you changing the plan, man?" he asked, looking beyond Michael at the guards that were slowly moving towards us, ready to spit words of abuse. I can't believe they actually thought that it motivated us in the least, we only continued because we didn't want to have to hear the guard's run their mouth all the time. "We're already through the room beneath the infirmary. That's all we gotta do, get though that pipe and we're home free." C-Note said, almost as if he was the one that had designed this plan. I shook my head and shivered, pulling the collar of the jacket tighter around me. All I wanted was some fuzzy socks and hot chocolate…something I just couldn't have. Michael had stopped working by this point, leaning against the handle of the shovel as he looked at C-Note, giving him that look that he always gave when the other inmates said something that contradicted the escape plan; I swear he'd done that face so many times that his features were eventually going to be stuck that way.

"There's a reason the replaced it with a twelve inch pipe, Darwin-"he spat, continuing with his work as to not look suspicious. "People can't get through it. The only way we're getting into that infirmary is from beneath. We've gotta find another way." I had stopped shoveling at this point, holding my gloved hands close to my mouth as I stood beside Michael to his left, pressing against him slightly in an attempt to warm my already frozen body; another way…I followed Michael's eyes and my own widened in realization about what he was talking about…

"The Psych-psych ward?" I asked shivering slightly, craning my neck to look up at him. His eyes were still tired and weak looking, but the blue of his hues seemed to glow in the dim lighting of the yard, the snow contrasting with the blue made them seem ten times brighter, he'd grown a bit of beard due to the colder weather, and the fact that he was just too busy to shave anymore probably; all in all…he was still handsome. He looked down at me and nodded his head; his nose looked just a red and chilled as mine felt.

"It's the only building that shares a subsurface line with the infirmary." He explained. I continued to stare at him, not understanding a word of what he was explaining to me. I looked down at the ground and stiffened; my blood turning has cold as the ice I was standing on as I felt T-Bag's elbow push into my back as he stepped closer to Michael; the sickening feelin gin my stomach returned. I know he knew that he scared me…and he used that to his advantage.

"Are you telling me," T-Bag started, his voice low and slimy, "To get the infirmary we gotta' go though the whack shack?"

"Unless you've got a better idea." Michael suggested harshly, starring the scrawny man down with heated eyes.

"Michael," I asked, getting his attention to advert from the pedophile, and focus on me. "Are you sure there's a submar-surface, whatever it is," I gave up on trying to get the proper name out, knowing that it would never happen. "That runs from the guard's room?" I pressed, rubbing my hands together. I just prayed that I wasn't getting my hopes up again. He must have seen the fear flash though my eyes, he nodded slowly and slight, his voice ringing in an odd tone a she answered.

"Sort of." That didn't make me feel any better at the moment. The words replayed in my head as I continued to think about what I had just heard, _sort of_; that wasn't the answer we needed in order to get out of here, either there was a system or there wasn't…there was no in-between.

"Wait, what do you mean sort of?" C-Note cut in, as if on cue; if anyone was going to object to this it would be him. That's what he was known for in this group; always finding something wrong with the plan, but, this time I had to agree with him, sort of just wasn't enough. I watched as Michael rolled his eyes, turning his body so that his back now faced me; I swear one of these days either Michael or C-Note was going to crack…and it wasn't going to be a pretty sight.

"We can go into that hole in the guard's room," Michael challenged, "About forty yards up Route 66," he continued to explain, turning to face the rest of us that were sticking out the cold, I wasn't sure how much longer I could do it for though. "Theres a grate and that'll get us halfway there."

"What-what about the rest of the way?" I asked, shivering as I wrapped my arms around myself; normally I would have been cuddled up in a nice warm house, the fire burning in the fire place in front of me, eating homemade snicker doodles and drinking hot Chi Tea…that's the first thing I'm doing once I'm out of here.

"We've gotta do it above ground." My mouth immediately stopped chattering as I looked at him…above ground? That would have to mean that…No, that would never work. We'd be caught in a heartbeat. Michael looked at me, his eyes pleading with mine not to stay anything out of context. I wanted to reprimand him, scold him about how incredibly stupid that plan was…but once again, C-Note always seemed to beat me to it.

"Oh," C-Note responded a sarcastic tone to his voice as he looked at the rest of the group. He was waiting for the rest of us to respond in the same way. "So, it's just a bunch of cons taking a stroll in the middle of the night for all the guards to see?" he asked, it was a rhetorical question to say the least.

"Yep." Michael answered, in an uncaring manner, taking a swift glance at me before he returned to his work. I stood there for a few minutes, the way he said it…it scared me a little. Almost as if he didn't care wheter we got caught or not anymore, while it used to be his top priorities…don't get caught. The snow was coming down heavier now, blowing in a diagonal direction so that that frozen bits of water were feasting on the equally frozen bits of my flesh that were exposed. I knitted my brows together and watched as Michael spoke to Westmorland.

"This is suicide." Sucre breathed out, sprinkling another round of salt onto the concrete before turning to me. I nodded my head in agreement, but, I didn't say anything. His plan didn't make sense to me in the least; I was actually starting to doubt his priorities. I could faintly hear the now three of them, C-Note had just joined their conversation, talking about a grate…the grate that we would be using to get out of this mess. I probed the shovel up against the fence and walked over to join the group, Sucre following close behind.

"Not exactly." Michael replied when Westmorland asked where the grate was. I tapped my foot on the ground slightly, knocking the snow from the prison boots as I tried to get the feeling back in my toes, I swear, if I didn't get back inside soon I'd be spending the next few days in the infirmary with frost bite. The crocked smile that he wore on his lips sent a shiver up my smile for two different reasons; one, it was incredibly cute, two the way he did it meant that he was up to something.

"Well where is it?" C-Note pressed, rubbing his hands together to create warmth. Michael's crocked smirk grew wider as he motioned towards the ground that was beneath my feet. I knitted my brows together and looked down at the ground, finally noticing the metal contraption that I was standing atop.

"Erica's standing on it." Was his only reply; I looked back up to meet his eyes as C-Note explained the multitude of towers that were surrounding us, I had to admit, as much as I didn't like this guy…he made a lot of sense. Almost all of the towers that he discretely pointed out had guards plus surveillance cameras stationed outside of them; we wouldn't even make it out of the grate at that point, they'd be on us like white on rice.

"Your plan sucks, snowflake." C-Note spat, getting back to work as a few of the CO's finally realized that we weren't doing a very good job of salting the walkways so they didn't break their own asses while trying to walk on them. If it was my choice, I'd spray Pam's cooking spray all over the concrete if it meant that they'd fall. Michael looked at me as I shook my head, grabbing the shovel as a few of the CO's continued to walk towards us. As much as I wanted to support this plan…I just couldn't.

**Miss. Jones Pov**

"_Mom!" _ I smiled as the face of the little girl popped up onto the screen, her deep brown eyes shining with excitement as she bounded towards the living room. I couldn't help but let a few joyful tears fall onto my black remote that was steady in my hands as I watched the scene replay over and over again. I had lost count about how many times I'd watched the old home movies, they were last things I had of the old days when Erica was just a little girl; unafraid of the world, just like her father. _"Mommy! Mommy! Look look!"_ She exclaimed again, pointing to the Christmas tree that was tucked away in the corner, an array of presents both big and small alike lined the bottom, completely covering up the homemade tree skirt that had been passed down in the family for years. Tears continued to leak as I watched the little girl open the presents, gasping at each of them, even if I knew it wasn't what she had asked for; she was never one to complain about things like that.

"_What's this? You started without me?"_ I covered my hand with my mouth as the camera panned over to meet the man that had just entered the room. He was tall, dark skinned, and a bright smile covered his face as he stalked in towards the Christmas tree as well. I laughed quietly to myself as she jumped up from her spot on the floor, holding the Star Wars tape in her hand as she ran towards him. I had always been against that film, saying that it was too old for her and violence too rough. But, alas, the two of them had stayed up watching it on television the other night and she fell in love with it; whatever daddy's little girl wants…daddy's little girl gets. I'm sure I still had that tape laying around in the attic somewhere. I quickly wiped the tears away from my cheeks as I heard the footsteps against the hardwood floors, leading nearer and nearer to the couch that I was sitting on, feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Here you go." The voice was soft as Frank Tancredi handed me the simmering cup of coffee that he had just poured for me; he reminded me a lot of my husband in a way, but, nothing could replace the first man that I feel in love with. Frank sat down a few moments later, his eyes smiling as he viewed the contents of the video with me, his hand laying across the back of the couch as he fingered ad piece of my silvery grayish-blonde hair between his fingers, I scooted closer and leaned my head against his chest; listening to the steady heart beat and rumbled of his chest as he chuckled softly at the scene that was unfolding on the screen. Erica and Stanley, my late husband, were already watching the Star Wars film; The Empire Strikes back…her favorite_. "You must unlearn what you have learned." _ Erica squeaked in her best impression of the little green man that was limping across the screen; Stanley laughed loudly, throwing his head back as she snuggled closer to her father's chest. _"Control, control, you must learn control."_ He answered back, making her giggle.

"Have you heard from her?" Frank asked, rubbing my shoulder slightly as he continued to pull me closer against his chest. I craned my neck to look at him, sighing out slowly as I put the cup of coffee back on the table, gazing up at him. He had been asking me this for the past couple of weeks now. I'd never seen him so eager to meet anyone in my whole life. You see, Frank and I had started seeing each other shortly after his daughter, Sara Tancredi, who is now consequently the nurse at Fox River, had joined the AA Meetings that I volunteered at. I shook my head, no matter how much I wanted to reveal the real reason why she was still absent from my life…I couldn't. That's one of the reasons why I didn't go the prison often to visit her, because I didn't want Sara figuring out that she was my daughter; just the thought of the outside world getting involved in all this mess was daunting enough. I lied anyway…

"Yes," I answered, wrapping my arms around his waist as I snuggled closer to him, brining my legs to rest on the opposite arm of the couch. "She's doing fine, still workin' hard in the jungles though." I chuckled nervously; he leaned down, placing a light kiss on my lips before smiling…

**End Pov**

I was completely beside myself as I sat in the guard's room; we had been in here for several hours already, neither of us so much as picking up a tool or anything of the sort. I covered my mouth as I waned, rubbing my tired eyes with the heels of my hands, pressing into the fatigued skin. Sucre was sitting next to me, head against the wall as he looked up towards the ceiling, and Michael…he was nervous. He had paced back and forth during the duration of the last few hours, a crowbar in his hands. Every time I asked him if everything was okay he would reply wit the same answer; a smile and a nod, reassuring me that everything was just fine…I was starting to worry about him. It was a few minutes later that we heard T-Bag knock on the door, signaling that someone was coming. Sucre jumped, his head snapping back into and upright position as he looked towards the blue surface. I stood up slowly from my spot on the ground as Michael suggest that we look busy, just the please whoever was coming. We all complied quickly, each of us grabbing a different tool. I held the hammer down by the side as I slid past C-Note, attempting to get a place at the wall that needed to be worked on the most, whoever it was would understand the understated work that was done if a woman was the culprit. I turned sharply as I heard the sound of something tearing as I squeezed past the man and the white face of the wall…the wall that we had hid most of the concrete in.

"Oh, shit." I hissed my heart beating against my chest as I quickly backtracked. I stepped in front of the tear that was in the wall, thankful that none of the others had seen what had happened. I propped my knee against the tear, thinking of it like a wound; if I applied enough pressure it wouldn't bleed out…almost the same procedure that I had used when I found Abruzzi. I gasped the gray sand continued to pour from the hole, the hammer slipping from my grasp as I bent over, trying to plug the hole in the wall. My attempts were futile, more continued to stain my fingers. My blood ran cold as I heard C-Note's voice from behind me.

"What in the hell did you do?" he hissed, loud enough for Michael, Westmorland, and Sucre to hear. I watched as all three of them turned and looked in my direction, I shook my head in fear as I looked at the three of them; all of them looked afraid, worried, even angered by what had just happened. There was no way we could fix this before the guard's saw it. I tried to push the lump in my throat down as I caught Michael's eyes; he looked horrified, not just for the situation…but for me. I didn't have time to defend my accident before the door opened, starring back at us the ever-so-unhappy face of Bellick; he must really hate us…or he must really hate our jobs, I don't think I've seen this man smile. I quickly raised my foot and pt it over the hole, turning so that my back was against the wall. I tried to act normal, but, my hands and legs wouldn't and couldn't stop shaking; T-Bag filed in behind him like a shadow.

"My god," Bellick huffed as his eyes scanned the room; nothing the little less than progress that we hand managed today. "You cons are slower than a spelling bee full of stutterers." We were all immune to Bellick's daily rants of us being worthless, even I, one that didn't like being talked down to, had tuned him out most of time; for he said that same thing every single day. "You think you can slow-walk this job? Play grab-ass in here?" his eyes flashed to mine for a moment, before shifting over to Michael's face. "Drag it out for months?" I didn't 'even mind the insinuation that he had just bestowed upon Michael and I; my mind was more focused on the wall, I could fee, even though the sole of my boots, the land slowly leaking from the wall, pooling around my other foot that was supporting my shaking body. "Get the work." None of us moved.

"You got it boss." Westmorland nodded in his direction. Still, none of us moved. I looked down at the ground, taking a deep breath, trying to keep my breathing under control. Bellick didn't like it in the least when people disobeyed him…especially not the convicts that cardinally didn't have any credibility to not obey him.

"How about it, princess?" I snapped my head up and looked at him as he stalked towards me. I swallowed hard, never letting my eyes leave his as he stopped in front of me. "Get to work." I looked to the man that was closest to me, Westmorland. I blinked a few time and pinched the bridge of my nose, my voice shook as I sighed.

"Yeah," I nodded, pushing the lump in my throat down. "Yeah, my-my leg just feel asleep." I wiped the underside of my nose, hoping he would just leave and expect me to do my job.

"You disobeying me _convict_?" he stressed the word in a sneer as he looked at me, roughly grabbing me by the shoulder. I gasped slightly as he caught me off guard. A crocked and most sinister smirk spread over his face; he absolutely loved brining me down to their level. I shook my head, but, before I could do anything else I felt my body being pushed roughly to the side, my foot immediately leaving the wall. I looked at Westmorland in disgust as I finally realized who had pushed me out of the way; he looked pretty upset, great…that's just one more person who hates me, I guess it's down to just Michael and Sucre; it's only a matter of time before the two of them can't stand me either.

"You young punks just think you get away with anything, don't ya?" he spat; I'd never seen him like this before, but, Bellick seemed to be enjoying the old man's sudden outburst a little too much. "Constructions as sweet gig, little girl." He spat, I knitted my brows together, my nose wrinkling in disgust. "You clean toilets? Be a housewife? Be my guest," he pointed a finger in my direction, "Otherwise, grab a hammer and start pullin your damn weight." I was too upset to notice what Bellick was saying to him at that point, I turned, tears welling in the creases of my eyes as I looked at one of the hammers that was sitting in on the table. I picked it up swiftly, sniffling quietly as I let a few fall down my cheeks; there was no way I was getting out of here, Westmorland obviously didn't' think I had done enough to deserve it. I stood there for a few moments more until I knew that Bellick had left the room, the door shutting behind us. All was silent for a moment, "That was a close one, huh?" Westmorland chuckled; I looked up, silent tears still leaking from my eyes as I looked at him; I didn't know what to say as I heard the other inmates chuckling; Michael included.

"That's-that's not funny." I sniffled, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand as I glared around the room at them. Michael smiled brightly and stooped what he was doing, dropping the tool onto the floor as he strode towards me. His arm wrapped around my shoulders pulling me closer to him as he chuckled, my cheek brushing up against his chest; this wasn't going to change the fact that they got a kick out of me thinking Westmorland was serious. Sucre was laughing uncontrollably by this point; a slew of Puerto Rican word's falling from his tongue as he wiped his eyes of his own tears of laughter. I cracked a small smile, not understanding the words that were flowing from his mouth at the moment, Michael's hand running up and down my arm as he tried to reassure me that they all knew that he was just trying to get Bellick to leave.

"It was only and act-"Westmorland laughed, the scene of joy was cut short by the sound of thunder…but the weather was fine out today. Westmorland moved out of the way as the rip in the wall tore even more, sand and huge debris of concrete littered the floor, a plume of dust circling in the room; this couldn't be good for my asthma. I lifted my hands to cover my mouth, eyes wide as I watched as more tumbled out.

"I'm so sorry." I whispered over and over again, scolding myself for the accident that I had caused; if I hadn't had grabbed that stupid hammer, none of this would have happened. "Michael," I panicked, tears springing to my eyes again, "I'm-I'm so sorry. I- I didn't mean-" Michael reassured me everything was fine before he rushed to aid the rest in putting the concrete back into the hole that we had just dug; I coughed as more smoke billowed around the room, covering my mouth with the collar of my work shirt. We all froze as the door opened slightly, not enough to reveal anything, but, just enough to make us stop everything our eyes gazing at voices and the wind as it flew into the room. We all breathed a sigh of relief, letting our shoulders relax as the door closed again.

"Guys," my voice squeaked, "I'm really sorry…"

I had lost count about how many times I apologized that day; hands shaking as I rubbed them together, it was a close call today, and we couldn't have a repeat of anything like that…that was for certain. Sucre still couldn't stop cracking jokes about the look on my face after Westmorland had made me cry. "Michael," I sighed again, resting my head against the wall as we stood at the gate of my cell. He glanced down at this watch, knowing that we didn't have much of tier time left. "I'm really sor-"I couldn't even get the whole apology out before his index finger pressed against my lips, shushing me from talking any farther. My breath caught in my throat for a moment as he smirked at me, he had probably already recited that apology in his head; the feel of his skin against mine sent a shiver up my spine, and my stomach into a tizzy…but in a good way. I blinked and let my shoulders relax as I smiled slightly, his finger falling from my lips as he crossed his arms over his chest; my god if we weren't in this prison…

"Accidents happen, Erica. You couldn't have seen that coming." He reassured me, pushing himself off the wall so that he was standing in front of me, his frame towering over mine by at least a full foot. I looked down at the ground, shuffling my feet as I raised my eyebrows and sighed, crossing my arms over my chest.

"I know-"I sighed, looking back up at him. "But, I should have been more careful. We can't afford anymore accidents like-"He stopped me again, chuckling slightly. I bit my bottom lip and looked back up at him; I could feel my cheeks grow hot. The affect this man had on me was something I had never felt before. I felt flustered and quite nervous whenever I was around him, and when the touched me, even the slightest nudge set my body ablaze.

"Yo, wats' crackin' homie?" David's voice filled the cell just as the buzzer rang, signaling that it was the end of tier time. I closed my eyes for a moment, watching as Michael glanced in the younger boy's direction; almost as if they were challenging each other. Michael sighed as the CO's began to walk around the block, ushering the convicts to their own places.

"Goodnight, Erica." He said softly, smiling slightly before he took his leave.

This was one of the few nights that I had actually slept. No moaning David was heard, no snoring was issued, no sounds of the glossy pages of the vulgar magazines that David had stashed in the upper bunk sounded, and most importantly…he wasn't talking to me. I turned in my sleep again, my eyes never opening, I couldn't have been asleep for man than a few hours, and I opened my eyes slightly. I usually woke up in the wee hours of the morning; I'd lay there for a few moments until I feel asleep again, it was just the way my internal alarm clock was set. I didn't know if I was dreaming when an agonizing scream issued from the prison, my eyes snapping open…

**A/N: Not sure how I feel about this one guys. I'm terribly sorry for the long wait; I would have had this one out sooner but life just gets in the way sometimes. (I.e. the Emergency Room, ooVoo…eBay).I promise this fic will be done in the next few weeks (cross your fingers for that giant snowstorm on Tuesday…that means I could finish it this week!) Oh, and look out for the sequel, anddd the possible X-Men story that could pop up within the next few days. Oh, and this chapter is dedicated to EHunter82, because she is so damn patient!**


	33. The Proposal

**A/N: Happy 101 reviews! You guys just don't understand how thankful I am for all of them. I'm really paranoid about things, so, I'm glad everyone is embracing this fic. Not much more left, I'm afraid! **

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners.**

Hearing screaming during the middle of the night wasn't an uncommon sound to hear in this place. It seemed about every other night a scream or a muffled moan or sob issued from one of the many cells; no one ever dwelled on the reasons for the noises though, most of us already knew what was going on. I opened my eyes up as the buzzer sounded, arousing the inmates from their no-so-peaceful slumber. I rolled over onto my back and looked up at the top bunk just as the mattress shifted; David wasn't usually up before me, I guess getting his rest was paying off. As soon as my socked covered feet hit the ground, a feeling of nausea washed over me…something was right. My brows knitted together and my eyes drifted to the left and then to right, gazing at the walls of my cell in confusion; it seemed like the whole atmosphere in the prison had changed. It was charged with emotion, skepticism, and tension…so much of that I bet you could cut it with a knife, or a shank-whatever floats your boat. My mind wandered, first David was awake early, then I get a bad feeling, I could already start to see what kind of day this was going to turn out to be. I shook the feeling off as I laced up the boots that I had slipped on, my toes never really reaching the front of the boot; it was just a tad too big for me. There was only one person that could make this day right. I couldn't help but crack a smile at the thought. I know I shouldn't see him in that way and I know I shouldn't get attached to anyone, especially not a convict, but, something about him…I couldn't explain it; it was like gravity was pulling us together most of the time. Like both of us were finding solace and our flaws.

I stretched my arms above my head as I exited the cell, listening to the bones and muscles crack with cramps and sleep. Once I got out of this place I would need some physical therapy to put my back in it's place again; it was starting to take a toll on our performance during PI work, we couldn't afford the loose anyone, well, that's not true; we could stand to loose just a few people…namely T-bag, who just so happened to be no where in sight_; odd_. My eyes drifted up towards the second level of cells, my hues searching for the familiar faces of Michael and Sucre; their cell door was open, but they were no where to be seen. Several inmates shoved past me as I continued to gawk at the empty cell, wondering, and fearing for the worst; the scream echoed in my mind over and over again, my eyes growing wide with fear. My mouth suddenly felt dry as the feeling of queasiness took over once again, settling in the pit of my stomach, radiating all the way up to my heart. "Boswell!" I heard a strong voice call my name, it took me a few moments to fully turn my eyes away from the second floor, mind pleading that they were just late getting out of their cell. "Time for your meds." I watched as Patterson walked towards me, handcuff's out of sight; that's the one thing I liked about him, he had stopped using them once the riot broke out, seeing as how defenseless I was, he figured I couldn't do any harm to him. My mind raced a she took me by the arm roughly, leading me towards the doors that led from cell block, threw a series of hallways, and eventually landed us in the infirmary. It wasn't packed, but, it wasn't as calm and uncrowned as it usually was in the early morning. My eyes scanned over the gurneys that were against the wall, most of them occupied by inmates…but none of them Michael or Sucre. _You're overreaching, Erica_. The little voice in my head reassured me, urging me to take clam breathes and to relax. They were just running late today, it wasn't something to fuss over…

My head turned as I heard one of the exam room door's open, my eyes were still scanning the room, just making sure that I didn't miss their presence in my first quick sweep of the infirmary. The grip on my arm loosened as Dr. Tancredi stepped from the room, the glass rattling lightly as she closed the door behind her. She looked up from the file that was held in her hands, her eyes connecting with mine unwillingly; her back was still turned from the door, her figure blocking my view of whoever was occupying it. Something in her facial expression made my blood freeze in my veins, I could feel the color drain from my face as I continued to look at her, watching as she nodded her head in the direction of the other exam from that was next to the one she was so diligently and purposely blocking from my line of sight. "This one's occupied, Patterson." She said lowly, the two superiors moved in unison, each of their actions fast and jerky. Sara moved first, her ponytail flying behind her, at that moment Patterson turned me around, guiding me towards the other exam room, and that's when I saw it. My head turned instinctively to look behind myself at where Tancredi had been standing, though the window I could see the figure. He was lying on his stomach, hands resting down by his sides as he lay motionless on the exam table, the side of his face pressed into the white pillow under his head. My breath hitched in my throat, heart pounding against my chest with so much force that I thought I would be knocked into next week, for, it was not just any old inmate on that table; it was Michael Scofield. My heels immediately dug into the marble tiles that made up the floor, the boots leaving black scuff marks as I turned in Patterson's grasp, attempting to break way from it. By this point, Dr. Tancredi's hands had found their way onto my shoulders, stopping me from moving any farther.

"Dr. Tancredi-"I breathed out, my breaths shallow as I looked back in the direction of the room. He looked helpless lying there, that's when it hit me with the force of a thousand bricks…he was the victim last time; he was the one that screamed. I felt so guilty, after hearing the screaming I put the pillow back over my head and went back to sleep, ignoring the irate sounds.

"Erica," she said sternly, grabbing me by the wrist as Patterson gave me a tug, both of them attempting to drag me towards the room. They'd have to pick me up and throw me in there if they wanted me to move from this spot. "You can't see him." She hissed. I could feel bile in the form of a thousand curse words, some I didn't even know existed before I came here, rising in my throat, my eyes glaring daggers and whatever other sharp objects that existed into her own brown hues. So there is a god…

Just as the glare-down between the doctor and I intensified, a strangled cry erupted from the room; gaining both Sara and Patterson's undivided attention. One of the other nurses, a heavier set woman with dark black hair and colorful scrubs on, bust though the doors, a prisoner strapped down to the gurney that was held tightly in her hands. "Sara! We've got a really bad one here!" she shouted frantically. The inmate on the gurney trashed about, blood pouring from his eye socket, nose, and mouth. I couldn't tell if anything else was wrong with him as he arched his back up towards the sky, a cry erupting from his mouth once again, tears billowing down his reddened face. "He's loosing a lot of blood!" her attention diverted to the injured, and almost dead, inmate. "I know, I know." She reassured him, "We're gonna get you help okay, you just hold on, alright?" she tried to reassure him, he only responded with groans and screams of anguish as she applied pressure to the eye socket once again. Sara, without a word to me or Patterson, broke away from us, rushing towards the inmate that continued to thrash about, it was getting to the point that each movement he made the gurney seemed to leap into the air, the wheels suspending in air for a few seconds before it would come back down onto the marble floor with a crash. Patterson's grip of me tightened before he looked at me, lips pushing together in a straight line, his eyes sending a warning to me.

"Don't you move you hear me?" he ordered. I didn't have time to answer or protest before he rushed towards the screaming inmate, grapping a hold of the man's shoulders as he continued to try and calm the man down. It was almost as if they had forgotten about me; success. On one hand, what I was about to do could be a good thing, on the other hand…Fuck it; I _needed_ to know he was okay. Taking a few more peeks over my shoulder at the several nurses that were wrestling with the man, I inched my feet towards the exam room door that Michael was being housed behind. I held my breath as I backed up against the door, my fingers fumbling miserably with the handle as they shook with anticipation and fear. My heart beat against my chest and sweat beaded the top of my forehead as I turned the knob, hearing the metal click against the door. My eyes never left the scene in front of me as I opened the door slowly, backing into the room. I shut the door quietly a second after I made it into the room, adrenaline pumping. If I caught…I didn't even want to think about the repercussions that I could face; SHU wasn't even the worst that could happen. Hearing that the chaos was still raging outside of the exam room, I turned towards the body that was flat on their stomach. My eyes grazed over Michael's form, looking for any sign of injury; the only one I could see was a bandage that was placed over a small portion of his back, covering some of the intricate tattoo that was drawn into his skin…the map out of his place. My hands shook as I squatted down on the tips of my boots, ducking so that the people outside of the room couldn't see me. He was breathing slowly, I could hear the small breaths leave his thin lips as I placed my hand on his bare shoulder, feeling the hot skin beneath my finger tips made my heart race. He opened his eyes slowly.

"Dr. Tancredi?" he whispered his voice groggy and sleep induced. A pang of jealously hit my chest, the green monster eating away at my calm façade as my face grew hot. This wasn't like me at all. _Stop being so possessive, you don't own him, Erica._ I shook my head and plastered a smile to my own face.

"No," I said quietly, the tips of my fingers stroking the hot skin, tracing the outline of the black ink. "No, Michael. Its-" I didn't have to finish the statement before he interjected, his shoulder blade vibrating as he lifted his head up from the bed slowly, his eyes meeting mine.

"Erica." He whispered. Something in his voice sent my stomach into an array of flips and somersaults; it was almost like he was _hoping_ it was me, and not just his imagination. I nodded my head slowly, my hand finding its way to rest on the side of the exam table.

"Yeah," I answered quietly. "Michael, what-what happened?" I asked, the sounds outside of the door had died down significantly, my nausea returning to the pit of my stomach, fear coursing though my brains. I looked over my shoulder, watching the shadows dance on the walls that were outside of the door; none of them seemed to be coming this way. "Who did this to you?" I asked again, turning my attention back to the wounded inmate. I remembered the first time I had seen him in the infirmary; his foot bandaged in a bloody mess…a few of his toes missing. He looked at me and gave me a lopsided grin, clearly amused by my concern.

"It's nothing that you need to worry about." He answered, his voice solemn, his voice still groggy from whatever they had given him. "It was just an accident." I held my breath for a moment, eyes dancing in front of his face as I looked at him. Just an accident; accidents didn't happen in prison. You never ended up in the infirmary because of an accident; I was getting a little sick and tired of him withholding information from me, especially when it involved his well-being. "It's probably not as bad as it looks." He groaned. I knitted my brows together.

"What do you mean 'probably'", I pressed the issue, still confused. "You-you haven't seen it yet?" I asked. He shook his head slowly in response, letting me know that he hadn't seen whatever wounded he had sustained. Something about this wasn't right, not at all. I stood up slowly. My hand resting on his shoulder as I looked from the back of his to the bandage that was stationed on a portion of his back; he didn't seem tired, whatever Sara had given him was to knock him out…they only did that when they're was a surgery involved. I sighed out heavily, my hand reaching for the white bandage. My eyes grew wider as I pulled the gauze away from his back, my eyes grazing over the burned skin; it was completely gone, nothing but red puffy, slimy skin remained…not to mention that the portion of his tattoo was completely destroyed. "Oh," I sighed out, voice shaking slightly. "Oh, my god, Michael."

"What?" he asked his voice suspicious and riddled with fear. I shook my head, my eyes still starring at the wound on his back. I'd never seen something like this before, never mind that, _who_ would have done this… "Erica," his voice rose slightly as he pushed himself up from his current position. "What's wrong? What is it?"

"What are you doing in here?" My body went rigid as Sara's voice entered the room, the tone hollow and angry as she left the door open, and her gloved hand still clasping the door knob as she stood in the door way, glaring at me. "I thought you understood what Patterson told you, _Boswell_?" I wasn't even human enough to be referred to in my own name anymore, I didn't have that privilege. It wasn't a second later that Patterson came though the door as stern look on his face. It was a bold and stupid move on my part, I didn't have time to react or protest before Patterson took a hold of my upper arm roughly, turning me towards the door.

"I thought I told you to stay put." He spat, leading me towards the door. I turned my head around, glancing back in Michael's direction as Dr. Tancredi coaxed him back onto the exam table, probably whispering that 'his friend' was just overreacting, something in his eyes told me that he realized something was wrong…and I don't think it was just the fact that a portion of his back looked like ground beef.

**Two Days later**

"Hey, sweetie," the voice drawled from behind me. Just when I thought I couldn't meet someone more annoying than David Apolskis, the people in this world, particularly in this prison never cease to amaze me. I took a deep breath, and turned around, leaning away from the wall that I was standing against my arms still crossed over my chest as I turned to meet the culprit of the pet name; Annie. No, Annie wasn't a woman…but _he _wasn't a man either, well, at least not according to him he wasn't. This man, woman, whatever the hell he was had been following me around since he got here two days ago, actually, he'd sat down with me at breakfast that morning after the incident in the infirmary; Westmorland didn't know what to think of it, and David left as soon as he started making comments about how young he was, maybe having him around wasn't so bad after all, as long as it kept that annoying kid out of my hair for a few precious moments. Now, now Annie was the annoying one. Always asking me what kind of shampoo and make up I used; news flash…we're in prison, I don't have access to that. Being polite, as always, I gave him a small wave, and he returned it with a feminine flick of his wrist, ignoring the cat calls the other prisoners called out, ridiculing him. I had to hand it to him though; he was strong willed, didn't let anyone get to him; even though he looked like a clown and wore more make up than Ronald McDonald.

"Mm," I heard from behind me, a shiver crawling its way up my spine. I didn't need to turn around to know who was behind me. T-Bag leaned on the railing that I was standing against, his arm bushing against mine slightly. I jerked away quickly, moving closer towards the steps as he chuckled at my fear; he lived off of that, knowing that I was afraid of him, I swear that's what was keeping him going…fear. "I uh- I hope you ain't tuggin' on that pocket, sweetpea." He drawled out, watching as the man, wearing Daisy Duke inspired clothing walked up the opposite steps, the prisoner's cat calls echoing in my ears. "Pretty might get jealous if he found out about that." I rolled my eyes and turned the glance at him. His teeth scraped over his bottom teeth, looking me up and down. The first thing I was doing when I got out of this place was reporting his whereabouts, I wouldn't feel once ounce of guilt doing it either; I'd make sure he never saw the world beyond the prison walls ever again.

"Why," I countered, pressing the issue. "You saw _Annie_ first." Flashbacks of the riot raced though my head, my ribs ached at the recollection; remembering his fist as he pummeled my face in until my eye was the size of a bowling ball. "Finders keepers." I shivered as I remembered his voice. _Sweetpea and the Co…are mine_. I was in such a trance that I hadn't realized that he had moved to stand in front of me now, his height towering over me, not as much as Michael's did, but, just enough to scare the living day lights out of me.

"I may be social, sweetpea," he replied, his hands finding their way into his pocket as he played with the cotton white lining; I can't believe I almost fell for that, I didn't even want to imagine what my life would be like at this moment. If Michael hadn't had been there to stop me, god, he was the only reason I was still alive right now. "But, that is a boundary line even _I _won't cross." I scoffed and shook my head, looking away from him, my eyes drifting up towards the row of cells in which Michael and Sucre occupied.

"Social." I repeated, the word coming out in a blur between a scoff and a sigh. _Social_; so, all those times that he threatened to kill me, make me his bitch, and hold his pocket and all the other crap in between…he was just trying to be social. "That's what you call it."

"Aw, come on now, sweetpea." He cooed. It wasn't easy for me to make him upset, even if he didn't show it in his face, his eyes said it all. I could tell I hit a nerve; the glint in his eye changed suddenly, turning from mischievous to down right murderous. "You of all people should know that I'm a friendly being." His voice was making me sick to my stomach, and the way his 'pet name' for me slithered off his tongue was much less annoying than it was frightening. I abandoned him quickly, looking back over my shoulder several times as I continued up the metal steps that led towards the second level of cells, wanting nothing ore than to get away from him.

I stopped at Michael's cell cautiously, poking my head around the corner so I could peek in, just to make sure that he and Sucre were accounted for. Michael was standing with his back towards the mirror on the cell wall, another mirror held out behind him. In the reflection I could see the burn on his back, most of that portion of his tattoo had been completely destroyed. I couldn't help but notice his facial expression, it was one of the few he possessed, and I didn't practically like it. His brows were knitted worry, muscles tensed as he stood there shirtless; I got a feeling in the pit of my stomach, you know, the one that tells you to leave that person alone, they're have a bad day. I pushed the feeling away and wrapped my knuckles lightly against the concrete wall. "Knock knock." I whispered. Sucre spun around from his spot on the bottom bunk, his eyes wide with fear, but, his facial expression changed to a calmer one as he realized it was just me. Michael brought the mirror down and looked at me, forcing a smile on his face. "Hey," I greeted him, watching as he carefully slipped the sweat shirt on over his head, covering up the semi toned body that I had racked my eyes over quickly. "How are you feeling?" I asked he took a few steps until he was in front of me, shuffling his feet against the ground slightly; something was wrong. He shook his head slowly, I glanced over at Sucre looking as the same expression crossed over his face; both solemn and worried.

"The blueprints," Michael whispered, almost so quietly that I couldn't hear; good thing I had an excellent attention span. I shook my head, my hand finding its way onto his arm; he glanced down at it for a moment. "The ones we needed to get out of here," he looked up at me, almost as if he couldn't stomach to finish his sentence, like it was a piece of information that would threaten the existence of all mankind. I couldn't piece it all together even if I tried. His attention diverted to Sucre for a moment, their expressions mirroring one another's, it was one thing to see one of them like this, but, when both of them have the same expression, especially when Sucre is more of the optimist…I knew something was seriously wrong. "They're gone." It took a moment for his words to register with me in their full effect, and even then, I didn't fully understand it.

"Wha-What? What are you talking about Michael?" I pressed, fear rising in me with each moment that passed. He looked back down at the ground, suddenly finding the dirt to be more interesting than I was. Why couldn't he just spit it out? "Michael-"

"They're gone, Erica." He repeated himself, his voice rising slightly. Wheter it was out of pure frustration or if it was because of my lack of insight of the whole situation I couldn't tell. "They're-"he looked down and shook his head again, placing his hands on his hips. "I had to find another way though the tunnels, and-" he paused again, "and I had to make sure that we could make it that way, but, there was an accident." I closed my eyes, remembering the wound that was on his back, consequently right in the place of his tattoo. Erica, how stupid could you be…

My mind wandered, focusing on anything and everything other than the room that we were 'renovating'. Michael was so wrapped up in finding another way out of here that he hadn't done any work during PI this time, instead he paced around the room, trying to draw the map on the clipboard that was held in his hands. I felt terrible for him; it was almost as if the weight of the entire world had been placed on his shoulders. We all knew that we couldn't do this without him, but, I was starting to get the feeling that the rest of the group felt as if he was 'slow walking' them as Bellick would put it if he knew what was going on; cross my fingers that he didn't. I really wished I could do something to help, but, I knew next to nothing about the structure of this prison, not to mention that Michael wasn't one of those types that you could just read like a book; he was a Stephen King novel if I had to compare him to anything, you know, those ones with a ridiculous amount of pages and almost no dialogue? Just description; I kinda wished he was more like a Magic School Bus book, less to read…more to see. I thought about something though on the way over to the guard's room that morning, it probably wouldn't be of any value to him but, I couldn't help but wonder. His old cellmate, the crazy guy with the beady eyes and the artistic skills only seen during the Renaissance period, I couldn't recall his name, but, I remember him drawing Michael's tattoos all over his sketch book, he'd shown them to me on several occasions. I shook the thought off though; he was in the psych ward, probably held up in a room with no windows and padded walls, tell Michael wouldn't have done any good. It wasn't until the door opened that I lowered the pain roller from is spot, which was only halfway up the wall; I wasn't blessed with long legs like the rest of them, I couldn't get the roller up that high.

Patterson gave me a cold look, still disappointed in my disobedience back in the infirmary three days ago; I swear, these CO's can hold a grudge. "It's time to wrap it up." He informed us, as if on cue T-Bag and I looked at each other in fright, my eyes immediately diverted away from his, glancing down at the tray of beige paint that sat before my feet. "We're gonna have to start exterminating." Sucre looked around the room for a moment; the smell of the paint was making me dizzy.

"We're not done in here." He protested his accent thick.

"Well, you look done to me." Patterson retorted, his eyes glancing around the room as he noted our progress. I had to admit, we had done a pretty good job on this place, it looked bran new.

"Naw, CO," once again, C-Note always had to put his two-sense in to conversations, hopefully this was one of those times that it actually benefited us, instead of hindering our changes of getting out of here. "We still got the carpet to do, man."

"No," Patterson replied, defiantly. "Bellick is gonna bring professionals in to do that. Wants the job done right." My eyes widened at the new information, the terrified hues connecting with Michael's. His façade was broken, it was one of the few, and probably one of the only times that I would ever truly see an emotion run across his features; actually, I think it was a mix of a many that inhabited his handsome face at the moment.

"When is that-when is that happening?" I stammered. Patterson looked at me before turning around, giving me the cold shoulder as he stalked off towards the door. He turned just as he reached it, his eyes glancing at all six of us.

"Tomorrow." And with that he left, closing the door behind him, leaving us to wither in the fumes from the numerous paint cans that were scattered about the room. As soon as the CO was out of ear shot, T-Bag's wrath reigned down on us. The skinny pervert threw the paint roller down onto the plastic covered ground, the little flecks splashing up to spray about the room.

"We got a real big problem on our hands, don't we?" he observed. He began to pace the room, his voice nervous as he spoke, it wasn't only nervousness that had consumed him by this point, and you could tell by the tone of his voice that he was down right angry. "Rug monkeys gonna come up in here, tear up that carpet, and that holes gonna be smiling up at them." He did an odd hand gesture, meant to show the carpet coming up from the ground as he looked around at the rest of us.

"We'll have to fill in." Michael quickly ended the man's rant, his fingers rubbing his temples. This was too much for one man to be responsible for; it was easy to see that Michael was beginning to crack under pressure. That's not what me, or this group needed right now.

"We just dug that bitch." C-Note complained. I rolled my eyes, if I wasn't such a wuss, and I wasn't a female I would have kicked his ass a long time ago. Michael leaned against one of the panels that were connected to the wall, leaning against it as he looked straight ahead, deep in thought. His fingers picked at his nails.

"All we need is a piece of plywood and a couple inches of that fast settling concrete on top of it." He began to explain, the five of us had gathered around Michael by this point, some of us actually listening while others stood there, looking for any flaw in his plan. "The carpet guys will never know there's anything beneath it." I could see that C-Note wanted to saw something, my nerves were on their very ends as I listened to Michael explain the whole process. "The night we escape, we'll just smash through with a sledgehammer." Michael didn't even give us a second option; it was either do this or not get out. He didn't have to tell us twice before we all leapt into action, rolling the carpet up and moving it out of the way

"How long-"I paused as I hoisted a bag of cement upside down, pouring it into one of the plastic barrels that were scattered around the room. I grunted as the dust from the dry cement wafted up my nose, irritating my asthma already. The bag was heaver than it looked from the outside, my arms ached and I gritted my teeth as I tried to hold the bag upright, knowing that it wouldn't be a good situation if all of it fell over. C-Note, much to my surprise, came to my aid, tipping the end of the bag into the bucket as I held the flaps open, making sure that none spilled onto the floor. "How long does it take for this stuff to dry?" I asked, using a free hand to wipe the sweat from my brow quickly, feeling it trickle down the side of my face.

"One, two hours." C-Note replied, titling the bag the rest of the way in. I stood upright just as Westmorland fled into the room, warning us that a CO was headed our way. We quickly put the stuff away, with expert speed; we'd had plenty of practice over the last month or so. We had just moved the table onto the hole when the door opened; Bellick's pig like face snarling at us as he entered the room. I turned away, positioning myself next to Michael; he looked down at me with passive eyes, mine mimicking his as I looked back at him. We were worried about two completely different things, yet, we needed both of them to work if we were going to get out of here.

"This place is sweet." Bellick observed, looking genuinely pleased with the progress that we had made so far. "I heard we're getting' satellite." Cue sarcasm; his eyes trailed over me as I stood close to Michael, it was no secret that he thought something odd was going on between the two of us, every time were around each other he gave us that 'behave' look, like we were going to try anything anyway.

"Yeah, all the porn you can watch boss." T-bag reminded him, trying to get on the CO's good side. I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable as I felt Bellick's eyes gaze over a Michael and I again; it was probably one of the most uncomfortable things I'd ever felt in my entire life.

"You know, you _girls_, have done such a good job. I thought you could use an extra pair of hands on the crew." Suddenly, we were all very interested in what Bellick had to say; especially when he reveled that he wanted to add another person to the group. This was the second time in a matter of a few minutes that Michael let his guard down, wearing his heart on his sleeve. We all watched the door as Bellick whistled, letting the inmate know that he was welcomed into the room; I held my breath as the door opened, the whole plan changed as soon as David walked though the door, his signature swag in his walk. My eyes grew wide as he stopped at the table, jerking his head in my direction.

"Wat's up cellie?" Bellick left a moment after that, leaving us with the loud mouthed eighteen year old convict. Michael closed his eyes in frustration, his fists clenching down by his sides as he turned away from the rest of us, grabbing the clipboard from the one of the panels. I looked down at ground, realizing just how complicated and almost undoable this escape was becoming by the minute, especially not that a seventh person had just joined. I knew Michael would never bring him along though… "Ay, girl." He greeted me as he walked over, punching me in the arm lightly, in a friendly gesture; Michael slammed the clipboard down ton the panel, the fake wooden backing sounded as if it had snapped in two. David looked up at the sound, raising an eyebrow in Michael's direction, and jerking his chin towards the frustrated man. "Yo' wat's your boy's problem?" _My boy._ I looked back in Michael's direction, watching as the pen in his hand continued to draw lines on the loose leaf paper; he wasn't stopping until he remembered the way out of here…that was for sure.

"Grab a paint brush." I ordered politely, seeing that he was going to be completely oblivious to where anything was I grabbed one of the brushes from the table and handed it to him. He followed me around that room like a puppy, always in my shadow, but, I did notice that he only did that because I was one that was farthest away from T-Bag most of the time; I guess I wasn't the only one that was afraid of him, although, T-Bag did have the guts to make several comments about 'Tweener tuggin on Sweetpea's pocket.'

"Hey man, look at my brush." C-Note broke the silence that blanketed the room, holding up the paint covered brush so that everyone in the room could see it; signaling to the rest of us that we should do the same. "It's all stickin' together."

"Somebody needs to go clean them out." Michael suggested, walking straight towards David as he continued to paint over the wall, he really was useless. He'd been painting that same damn spot for twenty minutes already. David looked thoroughly confused when the rest of the group began to surround him with the rest of their brushes. I watched T-Bag carefully as he walked up towards him, holding out his brush for him to take.

"According to rank," T-Bag drawled, "That would be you."

"What do I gotta do?" David asked, looking around at the group of us as he held the tray full of paint brushes in his hand. I raised an eyebrow at his question; did he really not know what to do? I mean, it's pretty self explanatory…

"Theres a hose out by the shed." I explained to him, pointing towards the door that led outside. "You can use that." He nodded in understanding, though, I was almost sure that he would be back in her a second later walking around the room aimlessly as he asked for direction sot the shed, or he would ask which one it was located by. As soon as he was gone, T-Bag turned towards me; I could see the list of accusations that were rising in his throat by the second.

"You," he pointed a finger in my direction, his feet carrying him across the length of the room, his boots kicking a few empty cans out of the way. I backed away from him, dropping my own paint brush on the floor as he continued to advance towards me. Hatred spitting from his eyes, flowing from his mouth, radiating from his skin; my effort to get away from the irate pedophile was short lived as I felt my back hit something, it was too soft to be the wall, and way too warm. I turned only to have Michael pull me out of the way, his body stepping in between mine and T-Bag's as he came to a halt. "I'm gonna kill ya', Sweetpea, and I mean it this time." He spat, trying to look over Michael's shoulder as I stood behind him. "You know Pretty, for being so smart, you sure is stupid." He spat in Michael's direction, a clearly scarstic smile spreading across the man's thin lips.

"What are you talking about?" Michael asked, one of his hands keeping a steady hand on my arm as he reached behind him. My whole body shook, knowing that Michael was the only thing separating me from the desperate convict didn't make me feel all that better either. T-Bag scoffed, kicking the paint can out of the way as he moved in a circle, pacing slightly.

"How else do ya' think Tweena' found out, huh, pretty?" he accused, his eyes trying to grab a hold of mine as he stretched his neck to get a peek at me. "He's her cellie, they probably talk." He wiped his nose, letting a dry laugh erupt from his throat. "Hell, pretty, they probably do a lot of _things_."

"She didn't say anything." He defended me, his eyes glanced around the room at the other inmates, daring them to try and accuse me too. "Now, if you wanna get outta here this week, we need to get this concrete settled." T-Bag continued to stand there, challenging Michael; I could see the options forming in his mind. With one final huff, and point of his finger he turned back around, retreating to the plastic tubs that held the concrete. I watched over Michael's back as he turned towards me, his hands grasping my shoulders as I continued to shake with fear. It must have looked shady, a future escapee's cellmate somehow ends up on the job, which just so happens is reserved for the escape itself. I wouldn't be surprised if Michael himself was thinking the same thing, contemplating on whether or not to kick me out of the group and leave me to fend for myself.

"Michael, I swear I didn't say anything." I said hurriedly, catching T-Bag's look from across the room. His lip curled up in a scowl. The other three inmates looked my way as well, each of their eyes suspicious and hard. My hands shook as I glanced down at the ground…I don't think I had said anything, had I? I was never one to 'sleep talk', but, I guess it was a possibly that I had learned the habit being away from the comfort of people that I loved talking to. Michael nodded his head quickly and grasped my shoulders a little tighter, signaling that I needed to keep my head straight; things were already bad, if I started to panic things would only get worse.

"Erica," he said lowly, his voice soft and reassuringly so, "Erica, I know you didn't. I know." He reassured me, his thumbs running over my shoulders as he tried to calm me, all the while taking steady breaths to try and calm himself; like I've said many times before, this plan just didn't want to work, no matter what we did something or someone got in the way of it happening. He glanced back in the direction at the four inmates that were busy stirring the fast acting cement, their grunts filling the room as the tried to stir the gray liquid that was already starting to settle into its solid state within the tubs; he turned back to me, his eyes darting to the door. "Everything is gonna be okay, alright?" he repeated again. I took a deep breath, nodding my head quickly. "Why don't you take watch, just in case things get ugly." He said slowly, motioning me towards the door, I followed the motion before little my eyes drop towards the floor; I had never been on watch before…what if I screwed that up too.

I hadn't been standing watch more than ten minutes before I noticed an orderly walking in the direction of the break room. I shivered as a cold wind whipped though the yard, pulling the jacket tighter around me. I sniffled slightly, shivering; but the cold wasn't the only culprit of it. I could only imagine what they were talking about in there, and by _they_ mean C-Note and T-Bag; I couldn't picture Sucre, Westmorland…or especially Michael seriously thinking about cutting me loose. I watched as the CO continued on his path towards the room that we had been working on for the last couple of months, I did feel like I had been here two months already, no, it felt more like a lifetime. I poked my head around the corner as the orderly left my line of sight, my heart leaping in my chest as I realized that he was infact coming this way, heading straight for the room full of convicts covering up their trail. It took a moment for my legs to kick into gear, having been frozen from the cold. I threw the door open, my hands burning for a moment as the unprotected flesh came in contact with the cold door handle, as if I had been burnt by ice; with lightening speed I pulled the door open, only to be greeted by their faces. Each and every one of them looked to be holding their breath, all waiting for that simple word. "Badge." That's all the information they needed before their own bodies kicked into gear, each of them grabbing tools and putting them away. T-Bag sneered at me as I grabbed the other edge of the table, attempting to help him move the slab of wood over the hole; great, now he had yet another reason to get rid of me.

A few moments later, Geary entered the room; he was short, round, white guy with a bad attitude, and a mean streak…almost worse then Bellick, if that was even possible. He adjusted the belt that was snuggly wrapped around his waist as he looked around the room for a moment. "Scofield, Pope wants to see you." My head snapped in Michael's direction; he looked worried. "The rest of you, round up. You're done in here."

Leave it to C-Note to speak up for the rest of us. "Hey, CO Patterson said we had till' the end of the day to finish up." He responded. Geary raised an eyebrow as he looked at him, rounding his shoulders and puffing out his chest to show that he clearly had the authority over us.

"And I say you're done." He cocked his head to side, inquiring if the 'stupid convict' had heard him right. "There's a couple hours of work I want done in the yard before sundown." I watched as Michael's eyes flickered around the room, those blue-green hues dragging across all of us quickly, trying not to look suspicious. When Geary realized that none of us were jumping for joy about the new ordeal his face reddened with anger, you could almost see the steam pouring from his ears. "Come on, let's go!" Everyone moved this time, our feet dragging against the floor as if weights had been tied to the bottom of our shoes. My heart racked against my chest, trying to burst from within as I trudged towards Michael, keeping my voice low as I spoke.

"Michael, this- this isn't going to work." I stammered, my lungs clenching as my insides began to shift, the sickening feeling returning to the pit of my stomach. He looked down at me as I starred up at him, my bottom lip quivering slightly. He grasped my upper arm slightly, turning me around to face the door as he walked closely behind me, his foot steeping on my heels. The sickening feeling was replaced by a warm fluttering sensation as his chest rubbed against my back, his voice low as he mumbled against my hair.

"Don't worry about it." A shiver ran up my spine and I held my breath. "I'll get it done. I promise." The warm feeling vanished as we neared the door, his hand falling from my arm as the other inmates came into view.

A shiver ran up my spine again, my teeth chattering loudly as another gust of wind blew though the almost desolate yard, the gloves covering my hands did a minimal job at keeping the biting cold that Jack Frost had graciously decided to donate to us. Even though the sun was still out, it's rays licking at my caramel skin that hugged my cheeks, tinting it a reddish color; I was still frozen. The chills that ran over my spine weren't only from the cold, oh no, there were two other culprits involved; one of them was T-Bag, the way he held that rake in his hands…it was almost as if he was ready to hurl it at me at a moments notice, like a spear. Not to mention the murderous look he bestowed upon me every time I looked up from the pile of debris that sat in front of me in a heap. The other one was Michael, well, more like the absence of Michael presence. We had been working in the yard for a little over an hour, and there was still no sign of him; I was worried, so were the others of course, worried about the plan, but, I was worried about the man behind the plan. "Erica." I knitted my brows together and turned around upon hearing my name, the hiss was low and held an essence of panic to them, Sucre was jogging towards me, his eyes wide, and his breath coming out in smoke as the hot mixed with the cold; something was seriously wrong.

"What?" I asked, equally worried as I dropped the rake on to the ground, the handle bouncing off the frozen dirt that lay under my feet. Sucre reached me, his breaths coming out in a pant as he tried to catch his breath. "Sucre, what is it?" I asked again, my voice rising slightly. He shook his head and proceeded to hold it in between both of his hands in a panic.

"No, no, no, no, _mami_." He whined, lifting his head up and looking at me. "This is bad, _chicka_, this is really bad." I was getting irritated, how many times did I have to ask him before he finally let me know? "Michael's in the SHU." By this point, Westmorland, C-Note and T-Bag had already recognized the panic whispers coming from the huddle that Sucre and I were in; my breath caught in my chest, eyes wide as I looked at him, praying to god that I had heard him wrong.

"Are-are you sure?" I stammered, feeling the tears burning at the back of my eyes. He nodded his head quickly, licking his chapped lips as he readjusted the beanie that was on his head.

"Yeah, yeah." He responded, looking around at the rest of the group that had come to join us. "I'm sure." As soon as Sucre revealed this the groans began, mostly from C-Note though. I continued to stand there, the wind biting at the exposed back of my neck, tickling the hair that fell out of the bun that was atop my head, but, I didn't move, no chill ran up my spine, and no chattering came from my mouth…I was literally frozen. Paralyzed with fear; Michael was in SHU, which meant we weren't getting out of here…Michael was in SHU…and I was here…alone…with T-Bag. I hadn't even realized that they were discussing anything until I heard Sucre's chocked protests as he looked at the group in sheer horror.

"You're the only one with a toilet open to the outside world." C-Note explained I could already see where this was going; not that Michael had been dethroned as the leader, C-Note was making his move on the open spot and from the looks of it, he wasn't letting anyone else have it.

"You're saying that I go out there by myself tonight?" Sucre asked in disbelief, the three other inmates, excluding myself, had all banded together, all facing Sucre in a group. I looked from the three of them, my eyes darting from them and then to Sucre.

"That's exactly what _we're _saying." C-Note emphasized the word 'we're', wanting to make sure that I understood that I was on their side…and not Sucre's side of this argument. I glared in the man's direction for a moment, torn between the whole thing. If I sided with C-Note I wouldn't only be betraying Sucre…but I would be betraying Michael too, but, wouldn't Michael want us to finish this? Just so he would know that this whole plan wasn't done in vain…

"Are you kidding?" Sucre retorted, "That's impossible." His eyes flickered around the group, his gaze finally falling on me as he realized that I had no yet chosen a side. My heart fell into my stomach. "Come on, Erica, you-"

"I don't want to hear impossible from you right now." C-Note spat, moving so that he was directly in front of Sucre now, their chests almost touching. Even though Sucre stood at least a few inches taller than C-Note, I could see that the Puerto Rican man was still intimidated. "I got people watin' on me, people that I'm gonna loose unless you man up and get some _cojones_, _compredne _?" This whole escape wasn't just about getting out of prison now…it was about getting out and seeing the people that we cared about the most. I can my hand over my face as the two of them looked to me, it didn't matter who I sided with. C-Note clearly had the upper hand on this one, he had T-Bag and Westmorland to back him up on this, and as much as I hated to admit it…he was right. Sucre was the only other person that could finish this job. I took a deep breath and shook my head.

"Sucre, he's right." I admitted my voice low. The look on Sucre's face was that of betrayal, he was utterly surprised that I had stood up from the people that had threatened my life many a time. "None of us can get out to finish what we started." I added, sniffling as another gust of cold wind whipped though the yard. "You would have been Michael's first choice to-" before I could finish my sentence Sucre threw his hands up in disgust, a scoff emitting from his throat as he mumbled Spanish profanities under his breath, his feet carrying him towards the shed so he could return the tools; we followed him shortly, knowing that PI was almost over anyway.

"Yeah, maybe I can get out of my cell." He rounded on us, turning around as he slammed the rake into the shed, slamming the door shut; I flinched as the wood hit the concrete that it was attached to. "Maybe I can get into the guards room." I had never seen Sucre this angry before, not to mention hurt… "But even if I do, and I fill that hole in, I'll still be in that room. I'll be sealed in. There's no way out." My hand ran over my face again in frustration, I don't think any of us had ever took that little aspect into consideration. I crossed my arms over my chest and thought for a moment…Michael would have never thought of a plan without having a way to get out of it, that just wasn't like him. _Erica's standing on it. _Hi voice echoed in my head as I remembered the first time he had revealed the 'backup plan' to us; the grate.

"No," I informed him looking up as he went silent. "Michael had another way out." Sucre knitted his brows in confusion, inquiring what the other way out could have been. "The grate, remember."

"Oh," Sucre emphasized the word with a hint of sarcasm, letting it be known that he already disagreed with the plan already. "That's right. The one out there in the middle of the open?" he scolded me, gesturing his hands towards the spot that I had reminded him of. "Yeah, Erica, that-that's really gonna work, ain't it, _mami_?"

"Well, then you better lace up _amigo_," C-Note spat, practically pushing me out of the way so he could return his tools. I could already see that this whole 'alpha male' thing was beginning to go to his head, and fast. "Cause' you're gonna have to make a run for it."

"That's ten years on my bid if I get caught." Sucre protested his eyes wide with fear. I shivered as I felt a boney face next to mine, leaning in from behind me so he could look at Sucre. My initial reaction was the flinch away, and I did, moving so he could have as much room as he wanted.

"Then you better figure out a way not to get caught." T-Bag drawled, calm as anything.

Sucre and I had sat like this for a while now; his legs hanging over the bottom bunk, head held in his hands. I saw on the floor with my back against the wall, starring at him. It was no secret that he was thoroughly and unimaginably lived at what he had explained that he would need to do; now he knew how Michael felt; now he was the one carrying the fate of this escape on his shoulders. He sighed again and rubbed his eyes, his fingers toying with the golden cross the hung around his neck. He put a lot of faith into god…maybe I should start doing the same, it was going to take a miracle to do what he was doing tonight. "Sucre," I groaned slightly, letting my hands run down my face before they feel to the floor, my palms smacking against the concrete. "I'm sorry-"

"Don't even start ,_mami_." He warned me, holding his hand up. He was still upset about me taking sides, which if you think about it really wasn't fair on his part. Even if I had sided with his decision we would have been out numbered, simple as that, but, you try and explain that to an irate convict. "You could have-"

"Sucre," I stopped him again, letting my head fall against the wall. "How many times do I have to explain this to you." I pushed myself up from the ground, brushing the dirt from the back of my pants as I straightened them out. "No matter what I said or did, they still would have made you do this." I had to get the last part out quickly, knowing that he would interrupt me again with another one of his guilt trips. He let his head fall back into his hands groaning. I knew he was upset just because he had been outnumbered, or that the pure thought of doing something like this was unimaginable to an extent; if he got that ten years added to his bid, he could see his girlfriend…and his kid; he would have lost ten valuable years with the little boy or girl. I sighed and walked towards the bunk, sitting down next to him as I looked straight ahead as well, holding my hands in my lap. "You know Michael would have wanted you to finish this, right?" I reminded him. Sucre was Michael's right hand man; if he couldn't finish something he counted on the timid Puerto Rican to finish it for him.

Sucre looked up at me for a moment, his eyes softening as he realized the truth in my words. "Yeah, yeah, I know." He sighed, his hands rubbing his eyes again as he stood up, stretching his arms over his head as he walked towards the cell door. I followed slowly, following him out as we stood on the balcony. It was tier time, allowing all of the inmates to converse and walk among each other, surprisingly enough, no fights had broken out just yet. I still felt out of my element in here, even though most if not all of the inmates had forgotten there was a woman among them; they treated me like everyone else in here. If I was in there way they pushed me out of it, if I was taking too long in the chow line I got cursed out…they didn't change their attitudes at all. It scared me how well I had actually adapted to prison life, well; I guess I shouldn't get to comfortable, since we'd be getting out of here in a few days time…hopefully. My eyes scanned the groups below us, I sighed, choking on my own spit as Annie walked through the crowd, each of the prisoners starring at him; he always wore woman's underwear that were obviously too small for him, making them peek out from the waistband of his pants that were too small as well. I shook my head and sighed out heavily.

"That's disgusting." I crossed my arms over my chest and watched as the man conversed among the inmates, it surprised me how well he was accepted, you know, being the way he was. I half expected Sucre to chuckle at my statement, or possibly crack his own, but, instead he was eerily silent. I looked over at him, concerned by the odd treatment, I grew more concern as I watched him look at Annie a little too closely for comfort, and his eyes dragging over the man; a smirk appeared on his lips as he turned towards me.

"I gotta plan."

"Uh-uh." The skinny man drawled, his eyes darting from me to Sucre; T-Bag was less than happy about the plan that we had to just come to him with, but, we were going to need his cooperation if we were going to get this thing done. You see, Sucre has this bright idea of using T-Bag to get a pair of undergarments, so, if the unfortunate event of him getting caught arose, he would have an excuse as to why he was out in the yard all that time, but, where in prison were you going to get woman's underwear, right? As soon as Sucre came up the plan he had asked me first, but, alas, the prison made me wear the standard non- sexy type that Sucre needed to pull this off; thank god. "I mean do you know what you're askin' of me?" T-Bag whined, retreating back to his cell as he flopped back down onto the bed with a huff; that's right, T-Bag had a reputation to uphold, this could tarnish it, I guess. I really don't see how this was any different than him making people tug on pockets. I crossed my arms as I leaned against the cell door, happy to see that this was making him uncomfortable, now he knew how I felt.

"Oh, I thought you were _social_ type, Theodore." I used his real name for emphasis. His eyes snapped from Sucre to hover over me for a moment, glaring. I returned the glare with one equal to his, both in intensity and anger.

"Listen," he leaned forward. "If you really want this we'll make au' little compromise." He drawled his southern accent thick. "What are you gonna do for me if I do this, huh, Sweetpea?" his eyes racked over me for a second, his teeth grazing over his bottom lip. Sucre shook his head for a moment.

"I won't turn you in." I spat. That narcissistic smile that T-Bag possessed graced his lips as he stood up from the bunk, his height towering over mine, I knew he wouldn't try anything with Sucre here…I could be as bold as I wanted to.

"For what, Sweetpea, huh?"

"Abruzzi." I watched the smile fade from his lips. "Bob." His nostrils flared in anger. "Me." That one threat, that's all it took for him to give in.

**Sara Pov**

I had never been in a more awkward situation than this. The waiter poured another bubbly stream of champagne into the whine glass that sat next to the plate of well prepared, and pricy food that my father had ordered for the table of three; in front of me sat my father, the governor and Illinois, a smile spread across his old and weathered face, the source of his smile…the woman that sat on this right. Not only did this woman make my father one of the happiest men on the planet it seemed, but she helped me though some of the toughest times of my life, helping me battle my drug addiction and turn my life around, now though…now I could barely look at her without seeing the face of the only female inmate to ever be held in Fox River. I could tell she was equally uncomfortable with me around, afraid that she would slip up at any moment. I couldn't even being to explain the countless times that I wanted to confide in her that I knew who her daughter was, and possibly update her on her status in there…I had noticed that she didn't come and visit her as much as I would have expected. Each time my father brought Erica up Miss. Jones tried to change the subject, treating her almost like a dead child that she didn't want to talk about, I could tell it pained her to even hear her name.

"Um. So," I took another bite of my food, deciding to join in the conversation for the first time tonight. Most of the night I sat there, nodding my head and smiling when I felt it was necessary. Miss. Jones looked at me with fearful eyes, signaling that she was afraid that I myself would slip up on information that she didn't want revealed, it took all my strength to keep my tongue latched. "How are you holding up with her not being here?" I asked, brining to conversation back to her daughter. She stopped chewing her food for a moment, the fork scraping against the face of the expensive white china, producing the sound of fingernails scraping down a chalkboard. She cleared her throat as she swallowed the bit of food that was in her mouth, chugging down a glass of water that had been brought to the table only a few moments before.

"Well," she continued, swallowing it quickly. "It's-It's hard." She laughed nervously, looking me in the eye as she spoke. I feel the battle of wills raging in the both of us, her eyes shown with fear, sparkling and pleading with my own to drop the subject; she knew I knew, but, she hadn't yet convinced her self of it. "Ya know, I mean-her being away for so long-"My dad suddenly stood up, wiping his mouth with this napkin before he turned to Cassandra, she stopped talking and glanced up at him; both of us confused.

"Look," he stammered, his hand reaching into his pocket. "I-I was going to wait to do this until Erica got back but- Oh, Dammit-" I knitted my brow as he fumbled with something I his pocket. After a moment he pulled it from his pocket with expect ease, his fingers visibly shaking as he held the little…black…box. I could feel my heart beats against my chest as I dropped the fork onto the table, listening to it clatter against the glass. Cassandra's hand had found its way to cover her mouth her shock, her eyes brimming with tears as my father, body still shaking, got down on one knee. I began to feel light headed as he took my former AA meetings counselor's hand into his won, rubbing his thumb across the flesh lovingly. "Cassandra Jones, you-you've done so much for me and my daughter; I thank you and-and love you for that. You just have no idea." I could feel tears brimming my own eyes as I listened to him speak to her; he used to talk to my mother like that before she died when I was younger. "Will you do me the honor…of marrying me?" Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she nodded, her head moving slowly as she accepted the gift, my eyes glazed over as I watched him slip the very expensive looking engagement ring on to her finger, right about that time, you know while they were kissing and hugging my phone rang. I didn't waste a second answering it, wanting nothing more than to be alone with my own thoughts; the tables around has had erupted into applause shortly after.

"Sara, we need you back here, now." Katie's voice was etched with fear.

"Why, what- what's wrong?"

"It's Scofield."

**End Pov **

**A/N: You guys have all the permission in the world to trash this! It really wasn't by best, and I realize that. My muse decided to take a vacation, not to mention life and emotions got in the way (I lost a dear friend earlier this week). I promise the next one will be better, and hopefully you won't have to wait long for it! Again, I truly apologize for the quality of this chapter…and the quantity, since it's a pretty long one. **


	34. Macaronis are a girl's best friend

A/N: Thanks for all of your encouraging reviews/alerts/favorites! I've a pretty rough last couple of weeks, so, I'm really glad that readers are still interested in this story; it really means a lot. I'm terribly sorry this update was so late, it's just been one of those weekends were everything is happening (family functions, basketball games, birthdays, homework ECT.) So, without further adieu…here is the next installment! Oh, and cross your fingers for that 'snow storm' on Tuesday!

**Poll Time! –cheers-: I need to know how you guys want the sequel to end I have three endings all planned out, the two that get the lowest votes will be written and posted as Alternate Endings (p.s I would do this though a poll on my page, BUT, I want to know the reason why you, the reader, picked this particular ending). So, if you want, include what ending you want for the sequel in your review and tell me why you want that one :] Ew. I feel like a teacher now lol**

**1 Erica makes it safely to Panama with Michael and Lincoln**

**2 Erica is killed by Agent Mahone**

**3 Erica and Ms. Jones are arrested**

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners.**

"David," my voice groaned. I was laying face down on the bottom bunk, practically smothering myself as I listened to the young man's erratic footsteps as he continued to the pace the cell; back and forth, back and forth. The prison boots that were strapped to his feet scrapped against the floor, sounding like someone sand-papering a wall. "Will you please stop?" I pleaded; turning to that the side of my face was pressed against the pillow, allowing my eyes to watch him. I knitted my brows together as I took in his stance; his thumb was placed close to his mouth, if I wasn't well aware of his usual 'gangster' demeanor I would have guess that he was sucking on his thumb, instead, I figured he was chewing on the cuticles of his fingers…quite an unhealthy habit if you ask me. His shirt was still rolled up, revealing the tattoo that read 'LG' not really sure what it stood for, since I'm pretty sure his initials were 'DA'. I couldn't help but feel the slightest bit of concern for the boy; as much as I hated to admit it…he had come to be sort of a brother to me, yes, brother, as in a sibling not 'brutha'. I mean, he was the prime example of why my mother and father never had anymore children, well, that and the fact that my dad was… Never mind that, the way he pestered me every single moment, that stupid 'I'm not touching you' game was getting old though. I sat up, bracing myself on my elbows as I looked in his direction, realizing that he hadn't heard a word of what I saying; something was wrong with him, and this wasn't the first time I'd noticed it either. I had noticed it a few hours ago, ever since we came back from our PI duties he had been jumpy, whenever I asked him a question he stammered like he was trying to keep a secret from crawling out his mouth. He stopped his pacing and looked at him with the eyes the size of a bush baby's, quickly drawing his hand away from his mouth as he gazed at me; there was a wild and frightened glint in his eyes, his jaw working furiously as he tried to speak.

"Naw, girl, it's-it's nuthin'" he weaved his head to the side like he always did, shrugging his shoulders as he waved the question off; this was becoming a normal thing for him, usually when I asked what was wrong he would actually talk about it with me. I gave him that look that my mother always gave me when she knew I was lying to her…I guess David's mother used to give him that look too, he seemed to read it immediately. "I done already told ya' bon-bons, nuthin' is wrong with me. I'm chill." He tried to reassure me; I rolled my eyes and scoffed, sighing a 'whatever' as I rolled onto my back, I couldn't make him tell me, and you know what, I should respect his privacy…I didn't like people knowing my business either. David's odd behavior wasn't the only thing that was worrying me at the moment; Michael and Sucre were just some of the few people that seemed to be eating away at my subconscious on a minutely basis. It had only been a day since Michael was put in SHU, I still didn't know how Sucre found out, or why Michael was in there in the first place; but it obviously wasn't for anything good. He was beginning to worry me more and more each day, he looked tired, you see visibly see that this whole 'escape' was taking it's toll on him, more emotionally than physically though, and Sucre. God, I just hoped and prayed that he was able to fill in the hole, and I didn't want to accept the fact that once that was done he's be punished for not being in cellblock and out after hours; and there I was alone with one of the most dangerous men to walk inside these prison walls, and I had no one to have my back. All was silent for a few moments, leaving David and I to dwell on whatever we were thinking about. Theres was only thing that I hated more than the people in this prison…and that was the silence that this place provided you with at the most inopportune moments. My mind frequently drifted from the escape, focusing on Michael, then jumping back to the journal that was still tucked underneath of my pillow; I hadn't had the right mental state to write in that thing for longest time, oh well, my mind was steel trap…and it's not like I could easily forget what I've done in this place, sometimes though, my mind wandered back to several people that I hadn't seen or heard from in a while; Emily, my mother, but, whenever I thought about her, all I could think about was Sara finding out, or vise versa, and the 'suit-man'…I didn't know what his figure crawled into my subconscious at the oddest of times…

The buzzing sound filled my ears as the cell doors opened; David promptly stopped pacing, looking like a dear caught in the head lights as he gazed out at the officer that was positioned outside of the cell. Bellick wore a smug look on his face, almost as if he was going to thoroughly enjoy whatever he was about to do, usually that look was focused on me; he just couldn't stop letting me know that I was just a piece of dirt to him, but, on this occasion his stoic eyes were focused on David's rigid and slightly shaking form.

"Apolskis!" the CO bellowed, his heavy footsteps brushing against the concrete as he took a step inside of our cell, holding a plastic container in this hands; that only meant one thing. "Today's your lucky day." He smirked, shoving the plastic tub into the kid's hands. I watched as David looked down at the tub, shaking his head in pure horror, my brows knitted together, confused.

"Boss," he began to argue, his voice shaking; this was a side of David that I had never seen before, granted, I'd only been his cellmate for a few weeks, but still. "Boss, look," Bellick cut the kid off with the flick of his wrist, his eyes wide as the inmate continued to stammer out words in a protest.

"Get your stuff." He ordered, eyes glaring at the boy. "Now." My heart leapt in my chest as David turned in my direction, tears forming at the creases of his eyes as he looked at me. Regret pooling in his eyes…but for what? I swallowed hard as I watched him gather his belongings; he moved slowly, taking his sweet ole' time as he packed the stack of magazines down into the tub, placing his extra pair of socks and the almost empty tube of toothpaste in after it. He gave me one last look of anguish as Bellick pushed him from the cell, the CO's meaty and fat face turned in my direction, smirking.

"Westmorland!" he bellowed, his eyes n ever leaving mine. I tried to keep the look of relief from washing over my features as the old man trudged into the cell, holding his own belongings in his hands. The same buzzing filled the air as the cell doors closed, locking Westmorland and I behind the bars; he cracked a smile before sliding the tub under the bottom bunk.

"Nice to have my old cellie back." He smiled as he sat down next to me on the lower bunk. I cringed as I realized that I had just now inherited the upper bunk, remembering the things that David had done while he occupied it; looks like Westmorland and I were trading sheets during tier time. He gave my shoulder a squeeze as I looked in his direction, smiling as well. Of course I was happy to have Westmorland back, he was one of the first inmates that I had met and actually grown close to on my first 'real' days here; god, the court and media were going to have a field day once I released this story to the public; I still couldn't get David's face out of my mind though, I'd never seen him so scared in my life. It wasn't long before the old routines began; Westmorland was stretched out on the bottom bunk, ankles locked together as he toyed with something in his hands. I was resting my head against the wall of the cell; the small journal held in my hands, I chuckled as my fingers scraped over the pages. They were worn and beginning to turn yellow at the edges, the penciled writing was beginning to smear onto the other pages, the last topic I had written about in this thing was after the riot…then I just sort of stopped, I guess.

"You know what," Westmorland's voice penetrated the silence like a shot; I looked up from the journal and placed it in my pocket as he gazed over at me, his glasses falling to the bride of his nose. The thing he had been playing with was still held in his hands, his fingers twirling the chain around his fingers absent-mindedly. I still wasn't sure what it was, but, the part he was examining so closely, with the look of love and admiration etched in his features was open like a book. "Outliving your wife is bad enough." He commented, a sigh escaping his lips as he focused his attention back on the golden trinket in his hand, I knitted my brows for a moment as I stood up, brushing the back of my pants off with my hands as I stalked towards the lower bunk. "But outliving your daughter?" he scoffed, as if he was trying to hide the pain that was creeping its way from his voice, "No man should have to endure that." I finally realized what he was talking about as I neared the bunk, leaning against the metal frame as I crossed my arms over my chest, my eyes examining the same picture that he had been; the photo was old and worn, placed in a golden watch type trinket. The little girl in the photograph couldn't have been more than a few days old; she was cute little thing, cubby cheeks, small lips, fingers curled up in front of her as she tried to protect her eyes from the flashbulb of the camera. I smiled, wondering if my own father kept anything like that on him…wondering if that was the last thing he looked at before he was killed.

"That your daughter?" I questioned. Westmorland craned his neck so he could look in my direction, still lying on his back on the bunk. I could see his eyes sparkle with unshed tears as the little light that was provided reflected off his glasses, his bottom lip quivering momentarily.

"Yep." He answered, his voice holding so much love and admiration I didn't know if I myself was going to break down into a fit of sobs. "My one and only," my eyes fell as I watched his fingers trail over the photograph again, almost like he was stroking her little face. His eyes holding hope that he was hold her in his arms again, kiss her little forehead when she scared, and hold her hand when she needed help… "Hospital says she's got a week…maybe two left." My heart broke for this man, just the pure thought of dying, never having met your own child was daunting in a sense…it just didn't seem fair. I placed a hand on his shoulder, rubbing it slightly. He brought his own frail hand up to rest on top of my squeezing slightly.

"I'm so sorry, Charles." I apologized. I never really understood why people apologized when others died, I mean, it wasn't their fault in the first place; I guess it was just the feeling of 'oh, that could have been someone I knew' that made us do it. I knew it couldn't have made things any easier though. "I'm so sorry."

"_Mr. Charles!" I squealed, my arms warping around the man's neck as he picked me up from the ground, my Sunday dress flowing in the breeze as he spun me once around. He chuckled as he set me down on the ground, his eyes growing in surprise. It had been two years since everything happened; I was nine years old now. He rested a hand on his hip as he took the cap from his head, running a hand though his silvery gray hair once, I couldn't help but notice the way his eyes danced around the church yard, almost like he was searching for something… or someone. He replaced the hate on his head and looked down at me again, smiling._

"_Well, Erica, I barely even recognized you." He laughed, I wouldn't admit it, but I hated it when people did that 'oh, you're so grown up thing'. I mean, come on, it's a natural process, everyone grows up, you don't see me going 'oh, you've gotten older!' every time I saw somebody; but, I let it slide with Mr. Charles, knowing that this was something that my dad would have done if he was still around. Hell, the silvery haired man kinda look over the role of father once he died, I heard him talking to my mom about it once, telling her that he felt that it was his responsibility to look after me…I didn't understand why though. He came over several times to watch the Star Wars movies with me and mom, even though she hated them with a burning of a thousand suns, he'd come over and help with homework sometimes too…just like a dad should, but, he did have the same job as my father, meaning that he was out of the country a lot. "You've gotten so big." I smiled, remembering when my father would say that to me after every trip…_

I was brought from my thoughts as the sound of tapping on metal reverberated off the walls of the cell; Westmorland and I both looked up upon hearing the sound, his hands immediately tucking the trinket back into his pocket as he swung his legs over the edge of the bottom bunk. I rolled my eyes slightly as the I noticed the skinny body that was leaning up against the outside of the cell, his hair sticking up in odd places, hands crossed his chest, that annoying hiss emitting from his mouth. "We got our selves a problem." He announced; his voice was on edge and too serious to be anything but the truth, I looked at Westmorland for minute his legs creaking as she stood up on them, his feet carrying him towards the cell doors; I followed suite, but slowly, taking my time. "Mojo's moving into Scofield's cell." He hissed, a sickening feeling erupted in the pit of my stomach…they didn't keep inmates in the SHU that long did they… "And that ain't all." I was standing on the other side of Westmorland by this point, my eyes wide with anticipation as I listened the sickening and gut wrenching voice of the racist fill my ears with information that none of us certainly wanted to hear. "He's bitching about the toilet," of course… "So, Geary's puttin' in a work orda'. They move that toilet…" His teeth scraped over his bottom lip slowly, sucking on it as he stepped away from the bars, turning so he could face us head on.

"They find the hole." My voice shook as I closed my eyes, my throat feeling as if it were going to close up at any moment.

"We are all screwed." T-Bag looked at me as I leaned against the wall, my forehead resting against the cold concrete as the heat returned to my face, burning my entire body as sweat began to build up on my brow and upper lip; I was scared…no, I was terrified.

"How much did Mojo promise?" Westmorland sought after an answer, moving from the cell as the rest of the inmates began to file from their own. I followed momentarily, making sure that T-Bag was walking in front of me; I didn't feel comfortable having my back turned towards him. I listened as the two men talked, C-Note joining the conversation, his face contorting in a grimace as T-Bag explained the situation to him again; I had to walk rather fast to keep with the rest of the inmates that were walking in front of me, my ears straining to hear the conversation. C-Note turned several times to make sure that I was still following them, several times motioning for me to join the rest of the group; T-Bag would turn and looked at me then, his eyes raking over my form momentarily, taking everything in as if this was the last time he was going to see a female counterpart, almost like he wanted to remember every curve, every wrinkle, every dimple… I would look away then, avoiding his gaze. "How much?" Westmorland asked again, his voice on edge as we filed in with the rest of the inmates.

"200." He replied finally. C-Note let out a sigh of relief and chuckled, rubbing his hands together. I still didn't understand why they were selling Michael and Sucre's cell to begin with, I mean, they were going to be out of SHU soon anyway, what's the point…

"Oh, Gomer," always with the racist comments, "Now you see, you had be scared there for a second." T-Bag seethed in his direction as C-Note fell out of line, walking over to Geary who was overseeing the rest of the inmates as we filed out towards yard. The space between T-Bag and I had become smaller and smaller as the rest of the inmates behind me got fed up with my slow-walking, the big guy with hunched over shoulders that was behind me urged me on, stepping on the back of my heels. I kept my hands out in front of me as the man kept stepping on the back of my heels, sometimes whispering 'move the fuck up, bitch' or something along those lines, I stumbled momentarily the palms of my hands hitting the back of T-Bag's shoulder blades. I stiffened as he turned around, this tongue running over his bottom lip as he ran his eyes over me, his hand gesturing in front of himself.

"Oh, how rude of me," he chuckled, "Uh, ladies first." The few inmates behind me grunted as I slowly trudge in front of the skinny man, just knowing that I couldn't see wha the was doing was making my stomach twist in knots, so tight that I though I as going to die. I tried to keep the shiver from running down my spine as we continued on our way towards yard.

"Why are they selling Michael's cell?" I finally whispered, jerking out of the way as his chest touched by back, the man behind T-Bag still hot on his heels; he was an ugly man, a handle bar mustache adorned his beefy face, he wasn't fat, but, he wasn't the skinniest man either, and his back was always hunched over.

"Because," T-Bag whispered back, the fabric of his shirt mixing with mine, making the bile in my throat more prominent as I chocked it back. "Sweetpea, your boy went J-Cat." He chuckled, his hands slipping into his pockets. I knitted my brows together, confused with the information that T-Bag had just presented me with. I turned my head to face him, his beady little eyes beaming with the acquired information.

"What?" I questioned, turning back around. "What does that mean?" T-Bag laughed out loud this time, whistling as his laughter died down…what was so funny?

"Means he's livin' it up in the whack shack, sweetpea." I rounded on him quickly, eyes wide with the new information. Michael…in the psych ward? I couldn't deny that I had lost all control of my breathing at that point, my hands shaking. God, I knew this escape was too daunting for one person, he's broken down…given in…he's lost it…he lost it…he lost it. Those words kept repeating in my head as my hyaline eyes focused on the back of Westmorland as we continued our march into the bitter cold, the sun had hidden its face from the world for the day, casting a gray, cold shadow over the looming prison. "It's true," T-Bag mused again, clicking his tongue on the roof of his mouth, "Seems pretty had a bit of a headache." This wasn't making sense to me…Michael always had a plan…he did everything for reason; every single move he made had some cryptic meaning behind it…

* * *

I hated the predicament I was in; we were the oddest bunch in the chow room, everybody could see it. The pedophile racist, 'DB Cooper', an ex- militant…and a _girl _that wasn't even supposed to be here; if this were high school, we'd be the outcasts. It wasn't enough that the other inmates harassed the hell out of us for it, but, every time T-Bag made even one single move my fists tightened around the plastic utensil I was holding, wheter it was a spoon or a fork; I felt exposed without Michael around, like my protective blanket, my strength had been taken away from me. I looked up several times as we sat across each other in the small tables that were provided for us, T-Bag was sitting in front of me, not a care in the world as he devoured the foul 'food' that the prison provided us with; I'd lost weight since I had come here only almost two months ago…it was still hard to believe that I had made it that long, and it was all because of Michael… C-Note told us that he would be able to get the money, diffidently, no questions asked; he'd have access to Michael's cell in no time, but, that still didn't stop the rest of us from forming our own plans on how to win that cell back. Now, I was an organized person, usually, out in the world I always had a planner on me, always checking it to see how much time I had in between things, making sure that my life was in order…I never thought that devising a way to buy a cell would be this difficult; I'd exhausted all of my ideas, blowing each of them off as impossible… T-Bag's whistle caught my attention; his fork stopped stabbing at the vegetables on the try as his eyes adverted to look past me; probably some inmate that he liked to harass. "Looks like the Bank of Africa wasn't allowing any withdrawals," he drawled the slights hint of amusement etched into the words. I had looked up then, turning in the bench to gaze at the person that had come up behind me; it was C-Note, his eye was bruised and swollen…if I cared I would have asked him if he was alright.

"Look," he sighed, setting the tray down onto the table slowly; I regretted my last inner comment; he did look like he was in a bit of pain. "We are gonna have to find another way to get that money, okay?" he informed us, his voice low as he spoke.

I dropped my plastic spoon down onto the tray and sighed, looking down at the slop on the table; we were never getting out of here, it was that clear now. We couldn't get the money, Michael was in SHU, somebody was going to fix the toilet and eventually figure out everything…I was never getting out of here. _Another way_… "Well," T-Bag's voice cut into my thoughts as my mind immediately went into planning mode, my exhausted options resurfacing with a vengeance as they swirled around my head like a whirlpool, even some new ones surfaced from the depths; now I knew how Michael felt…it was exhausting. "I reckon it ain't too much of a problem, for our friend here to rummage up, ain't that so, D.B?" I shook my head as T-Bag looked in Westmorland's direction, the old man giving him a stone cold glare; I sill didn't understand the whole D.B Cooper story that was floating around the prison like a fable that had been passed down for centuries around the camp fire. I had lost all count of what they men were talking about as my mind continued to race with thoughts; the latter were a set that I was just wasn't able to abide by, whoring yourself out in a prison for two hundred dollars wasn't the smartest thing I could have come up with…although, it would have been plenty effective.

_Bank; _I knitted my brows together as I listened to their distorted voices as they spoke amongst one another; I guess they thought I was listening to the conversation. I repeated the word in my head over and over again, almost like I was trying to brand it into my memory…the bank. I thought I may have whispered the word a few times to myself as I thought, struggling the grasp the idea that had just came to mind. The bank, Emily….credit card… I could feel my eyes widen as the little parasite that was an idea ate away at my brain; _I_ could get this money… "The Kitchen Game," I heard T-Bag drawl as the fog cleared from my mind, allowing me to finally hear what they were talking about.

"Guys," I interrupted them, only to be ignored as C-Note opened his busted mouth; I followed their gaze as they looked at a man on the other side of the lunch room, his hands shuffled the cards with expert speed. I guess this was how they got most of the money in this prison…

"Gambling?" C-Note scoffed, "And that's your solution?" I rolled my eyes and sighed as I realized that none of them had even heard what I had said just a few moments ago; I swear, once these men had their sights on something they just didn't let it go. I interrupted them once more.

"Guys, I can get-"T-Bag looked over in my direction as he opened his mouth to speak, his lips twisted in a sneaky smile as he ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

"Sweetpea, didn't your momma eva' teach you not to interrupt when grown ups are speakin'?" he drawled out coyly, still gazing in my direction. "Now, as I was sayin'." He turned his attention back to C-Note, Westmorland's eyes traveled to me; at least he knew that I had something to say. "Son, trust me. When I play cards, it ain't gambling."

"Will any of you listen to me?" I whined loudly, eyes gazing around the table; again, the men didn't even flinch, well, not entirely true. T-Bag shivered at my voice, annoyed that I was still interrupting his little moment of glory. "Hey, I'm trying to tell you guys something. I can get-"

"There's maybe five people in this country that can do what I do with a deck of cards." He continued. I ran a hand over my face groaning loudly. I always hated it when people didn't listen to me, especially when I thought I had something that could help them… I wasn't staying quiet with time. With Michael gone, not to mention Sucre, I would have to hold my own in this place…and that meant growing a pair. My fists slammed down onto the table, rattling the trays like a mini quake. The three men looked at me, eyes wide in surprise at my outburst; well, now that I've got your attention.

"Listen, I-I know a way to get the money." I stammered out quickly, watching each of them closely. C-Note gave the response that I had suspected, a groan flowing from his lips as he ran his hands over his head, probably wishing that I would shut my mouth and call it a day. T-Bag chuckled and snorted at my request for speaking. "Look, just-just give me a few hours…alright? I can- I can have double what they want the cell for-" T-Bag's rude laugher cut my plea short, causing my head to flinch in his direction as he placed his hands onto the table, leaning in across the structure for a moment before sitting back down, amused.

"And how do you plan on doing that, huh, sweetpea?" he chuckled, twirling the fork in his fingers as he looked at me; I could already see the several ideas pooling in his eyes as they grew in size.

"Look, its simple. All I have to do is-"

"What? How you gonna get that money, sweetpea, huh? You gonna-"he chuckled again, "you gonna use what your momma gave ya'? Is that it?" I was getting fed up with their shit, sure, I may be vulnerable…but I'm not stupid.

**Emily Pov**

The shrill ringing of the phone startled me, my whole body lurched forward as I lay resting on the beige couch; my feet propped up on the other arm rest at the other end, a comfortable red pillow placed behind my head, the half eaten bowl of Trix cereal had turned into a soggy mess in the porcelain bowl that sat on the coffee table, and some bad daytime television talk show was playing in the background, the volume low, so low that their voices came out in a fit of whispers more than yells. The phone rang again, letting me know that it wasn't my imagination that had awoken me from my nap, I lazily grouped beside me on the coffee table, reaching for the cordless phone that I had forgotten to put on the hook earlier that afternoon; it was a terrible habit of mine. You see, I hadn't left the house in over three days, and it wasn't because I was lazy, no, it was because I was afraid.

Everywhere I went, every corner I turned, every stop light I stopped at…a black car seemed to occupy the vicinity around it. Now, maybe it was just my imagination, at least, that's what my mother had convinced me it was. I couldn't be so sure, so, being me, I opted out of class for the last few days; my ass was parked in front of the television every waking moment, only to get a shower did I move from it's comfort…oh, and to make coffee. I would look out of the kitchen window several times a day, searching the dark apparition of the vehicle, but, oddly enough, I never saw one. It was like it had vanished into thin air as soon as I let my mind take too much of a notice in its presence. The phone rang again as my pale hand wrapped around its black frame, my fingers fumbling to press the talk button for a moment. Finally hitting the correct key I placed the earpiece against my face, eyes still closed as I cleared my throat, trying to rid it of its grogginess. "Hello?" I asked, suppressing a yawn.

"Emily-"the voice on the other end of the phone jolted me out of my state of the walking dead, my eyes widening. Maybe I was dreaming. I hadn't heard from Erica since out last visitation, and that was, what, weeks ago?

"Erica." I didn't mean for my voice to sound so shocked, but, hey, my best friend was in an all male prison…what else am I supposed to react like. "Erica- I- I- it's so good to hear from you." I finally stammered out, throwing the covers off of me in a fit of both excitement and worry, my hand gripping the remote as I turned the television completely off, not wanting to be distracted by the DNA Test results that the announcer was about to release to the public. "Is- Is everything okay?" It took her a moment to answer.

"_Yeah, yeah, Em,"_ she reassured me, _"Everything's fine. It's just uh-"_she chuckled slightly, I could hear the shiver in her voice as she spoke. _"It's just a little chilly out here that's all."_

I knitted my brows together as I listened to her speak, something was a little off about everything that she was saying, but, it wasn't the content of the words…it was the context. "Erica, are you sure everything's okay?" I pushed, knowing that she hated it when people asked if she was okay, even after she had just told them that they were fine.

"_Emily,"_ she said slowly, _"I need your help."_

It was weird, being out of the house. It was almost like I was relearning everything; the cold was the worst though, having not had to go out into the frigid weather for the least three days made me realize just how terrible it actually was. I wrapped the black Peacoat around myself again as I looked at the credit card in my hands, Erica's name printed at the bottom all nice and neat; behind the card was a piece of paper, scrawled on the white face of the old receipt that I had dug out of my purse in a hustled manner, was my chicken scratch hand writing...all her information only readable to my eyes. I glanced back up as I looked out of the windshield, my eyes watching as the woman inside of the glass ATM kiosk gathered her belongs, wrapping the scarf around her neck again, her body visibly shivering as she pushed the door open, allowing herself to venture back out into the cold. I took a deep breath and looked back down at the objects in my hand, my mind rethinking the whole reason why I was here; Erica wouldn't tell me what she needed the seven-hundred and fifty dollars for, and she wasn't making it obvious either. I wouldn't lie, it worried me, I mean, I'd never hears so much desperation in her voice before…it was like I was her only hope. Finally, after a few moments of silent meditation, I swung the car door open, the heels of my knee high boots clicking against the ground ans I shuffled my way to the confides of the small kiosk. I found it much colder in there than it was outside, taking a few glances behind me I let the machine eat the card, my shivering fingers pressing in the information that she had ordered me to write down. I felt guilty, almost like I was stealing money from her as the machine spit out the money, my hands grabbing it quickly as I shoved the green bills into my pocket. That's when I realized that that was the only money that she had left… I made haste as I left the glass structure, holding the door open for the elderly man that was going in after me, his frail voice calling a thank you as I let the door close behind him. I almost had my door opened when out of the corner of my eye a black vehicle passed by…

**End Pov**

**

* * *

****Kellerman Pov**

The laptop sat open on the passenger seat of the black car that was parked just outside of the Dunkin Donuts shop in down town; the picture of Paul's newest subject flashed onto the screen, showering her drivers license, behind it several windows were opened up showing all her records…all of them were clean. She was cleaner than Mr. Clean himself if it was up to Kellerman to decide; she had no record, not even a tardy pass or a referral in all her twelve years of public schooling. He observed the face of the woman as he took another bite of his sausage and egg bagel, the scent wafting up his nose, making his mouth water. Erica Boswell was a pretty girl; tanned skin, deep brown eyes, dark black hair, great smile…even greater ambitions, according to what he'd read. Yeah, Paul Kellerman did his homework. She was supposed to graduate from the University of Chicago this coming May, she'd probably achieve great things once she was out of that place…but not now. He couldn't figure her out, he'd exhausted all of his resources when he was, well for the lacking of a better work, researching her life story, he also couldn't figure out what connection she had to Scofield or Burrows…nothing was adding up. Her mother didn't have any connection to them either, hell, her mother didn't even have a real job that he could get any valuable Intel from, her father on the other hand, was an interesting man. Turns out he was killed around the same time 'The Company' had a problem down in Africa back in the 1980's, just a few days before Christmas.

Paul just about chocked on the sandwich he was eating as the computer gave a long continuous beep, signaling that something new had just come up. He quickly downed the small cup of coffee that he had just bought, winching as the hot liquid burned his throat, the bandage on his neck stretching as he felt the hot liquid fall into the pit of his stomach. His fingers quickly pounded on the keypad, watching as several of the other windows closed, allowing the one that had an alert banner written across the top to be displayed. His brows knitted together, a puzzled look crossing his features as he looked at the screen; the alert was about her bank account.

"A withdraw…"

**End Pov**

My heart beat against my chest as Patterson uncuffed my hands, repeating the standard procedure information that he was paid to give at every visitation. I nodded in understand as he informed me that he would be right outside the door, I was only allowed to have visitation for fifteen minutes today…but that should be just enough time. Emily had her back turned towards me, her heels tapping on the concrete floor impatiently, or, maybe it was nervousness; she turned around, startled as the door slammed shut behind her. My eyes focused in on the small manila envelope that was held tightly in her hands, so tightly that her knuckles were turning white. I really didn't' know how to react as she approached me, usually we would have hugged, and I would have cried…but now, it seemed so business like. I sat down at the table, Emily sitting across from me her hands reluctantly sliding the envelope towards me. As soon as the paper touched my hands I let a small smile grace my face, appreciation flowing from my eyes as I looked over the table at her. I could tell she was nervous, her body language said it all; she rung her hands out like a dish towel, chewing on her bottom lip as if she had something to say.

"Thank you." Was the only thing that left my mouth; she chuckled nervously, smiling back as she nodded in my direction.

"Your welcome." She replied, her teeth immediately chewing away at the cracked skin that covered her lips. She wanted to know, that was obvious. I'd be lying if I said that I hadn't thought about telling her about the plan, it had crossed my mind several times…but you that mouth of hers really didn't do her any justice. "So," she began, looking around the room as she avoided my eyes. Mine did the same, the brown orbs floating until they were stationed on the small envelope that was held in my hands; Michael would be proud of this… "What-What do you need the money for?" she asked, "I mean-you-you don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but, I just- I just was curious, you know." She stammered.

_I'm breaking out of prison. _"It's- It's nothing really." I reassured her, not being able to bring myself to tell her. It was an odd feeling, being able to put so much trust in a man that you just met two months ago, versus being able to trust a girl that you've known for over twenty years of your life.

"Are you sure?" she asked, not believing a word I said; we'd obviously been friends way too long, either that or I was just easy to read…I think it was both. "Because I mean if something's going on you should-"

"Emily," I stopped her, hearing the door of the open and the jingling of keys. "Everything's okay."

I had to get this done as soon as possible; T-Bag, C-Note and Westmorland were off doing their own thing, gambling was the way they went to try and win the cell back. T-Bag had winked at me as he passed me at tier time, letting me know that they were going to win that cell back for us, being the "macho men" that they were. I had thought about telling them that I had already had it taken care of, but, what the hell, they didn't want to hear the plan I had in the first place, what's the use in trying to tell them about it now. I studied my surroundings as I watched the inmates file from their cells, most of them huddling into their little groups that they usually separated themselves into during this time. My next subjects of lurking were the CO's; it was mostly the ones that didn't enforce the rules that were on duty tonight…just my luck. My palms began to sweat as I ascended the steps that led up to Michael's cell, my gaze staying on the ground as the other inmates walked past me, retreating to their cliques. I knew I was in luck when I saw Geary emerge from Michael's vacant cell; my heart leapt in my chest. I missed seeing his smile whenever I came up to visit him during this one hour that we had to ourselves, I mean, we never really spoke. I usually just sat back and watched him do his thing, if he needed someone's opinion I was always there to give one…and I was pretty content just doing that. Geary was standing inside of Michael's cell arms crossed over his chest as I rounded upon it, the stillness and silence of the cell was eerie, and the only sound coming from it was the leaking toilet. "What do you want?" Geary spat as I leaned dup against the cell door, my arms crossing over my chest…like I said, I had to grow a pair if I was going to get this done.

"A uh- little birdie told me that this cell was up for grabs." I stated, looking down to make sure that I didn't meet his eyes; I didn't want him to realize just how scared I was. The wad of money in my pocket felt like a thousand pound weight as I shoved my hands into my pockets, puckering my lips.

"Too late." He ordered stiffly, "Already been bought." He sneered, glaring at me. I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment. Act tough, act tough, act tough…

"How much?" I asked trying to remember all those old mafia styled movies that I had watched over the course of the last four years at the college; they were only things on during the wee hours of the morning when I was working on assignments for my classes. Geary snorted and scoffed.

"Two hundred, now, get." He ordered me again; this wasn't turning out as easily as I'd hoped it to. "What's it to you anyway? Didn't you just get a new cellie?" I shrugged and stood up right so that I was now standing in front of him; everyone seemed to tower over me.

"Yeah, but uh." Come on…think. "A uh- a girl needs her privacy…if you know what I mean." I stated, raising my eyebrows hoping that he'd understand whatever fake point I was trying to make, I, myself wasn't even sure. Geary chuckled, I didn't really think the two of us were thinking about the same kind of privacy, but hey, whatever got this done.

"How much you got?"

"Seven-hundred and fifty." He scoffed, not believing it. "In cash." His degrading chuckling stopped a moment sooner, his eyes wide as he looked down at my hand as I pulled it from my pocket, showing him just a sliver of the wad of cash. This was the first time I'd ever done anything along the lines of bribing, but, from the look on his face I seemed to be doing a pretty good job.

"Deal."

* * *

I could only guess from the looks on the other's faces the next morning that their little gambling game hadn't sufficed them much…serves them right for not listening to me. Sure, maybe I should have told Westmorland the fact that I had just saved us all; but…actually, I really didn't understand why I just didn't tell him. I sat my tray down, across from T-Bag's as fate always had it; all of them looked thoroughly pissed. T-Bag didn't even look at me was I sat down, which really tells you something. C-Note was fuming, elbows propped up on the table as he looked straight ahead at Westmorland, sighing out heavily. Maybe I should drag this on too long…

"No one's gettin' out of here if maintenance goes in to replace Scofield's cell." Westmorland sighed; I was surprised that he was the calmest out of the bunch, well, after me of course. I tried to hide the smile that was tugging at my lips, T-Bag must have noticed.

"What's so funny, huh, sweetpea? You think it's funny that we're gonna be-"he accursed me, brining his hand down from his mouth so that he could scold me for my behavior. I should have taken drama in high school, would have taught me to hide my emotions, it was a much needed skill in a place like this.

"No, no." I retorted quickly. "I don't think it's-"

"I got a way to help you with your Scofield problem." You could almost see everyone's blood freeze in their veins, and even though the chow room was bounding with conversation and loud clattering of trays, this one table was eerily silent. We all turned to look at the culprit of the statement at once; he was big fellow, I observed. Brown eyes, olive toned skin, and he looked scared shitless.

"What did you say slim?" T-Bag hissed. The man, obviously not realizing that it was a rhetorical question, repeated it; this voice was getting a little too loud for comfort. It all happened too fast, the next thing I knew the beefy man's face was on the side of the table, C-Note's hand grasping the back of his neck as the man panicked like fish out of water; I jumped back as my tray scooted closer to the edge of the table, stopping just as it hit my stomach. I'd never had perfect hand eye coordination, so when I miraculously caught the try in my hands before it hit the floor I was relieved, and quite impressed with myself.

"Who in the hell said that we had a problem?" C-Note spat, his voice dangerously low and threatening as he looked at the man. If C-Note tried so hard not to draw attention to him-self, this really wasn't a good way at going about it. I was surprised that none of the guards had steeped in yet, seeing as they always did when a scuffle broke out. The man tried to plead with C-Note, desperately trying to explain to him that everything was okay, it didn't help that he added in that bit about Sucre and Lincoln telling him about the whole plan. "What in the hell did they tell you? Exactly, what did they tell you." He ordered again, the man's breathing was labored.

"Everything." He struggled to say, C-Note really wasn't keeping this thing to a minimum, but, none of the other inmates seemed to notice. "They said I can come with you, you know," he stammered, sweating. "On early parole, if I can help get the fish outta' psych." C-Note let him up at moment later. Another person joining the escape… This struck a nerve in all of us, I could see it. T-Bag got that look in his eye, it was blank for the time being, but behind those brown eyes, you could see something brewing; pure hatred and frustration is what it was.

"What are we? The A Train?" He seethed, his voice trembling. "Everyone gets to ride with us!" His outburst was tamer than I had expected it to be, obviously not civilized, but, tame. His hand knocked his carton of milk in the heavy man's direction, the white sour smelling liquid spraying all over the table. I flinched as a few specks found their way onto my face, my hands quickly wiping it away. "Why don't you take a walk before I give you a smack?" T-Bag threatened, leaning across the table so he could look the man in the eyes; I swear T-Bag thrived off of other people's fear of him. The man's bottom lip trembled, his eyes searching the table for anyone to stand up for him…I knew better than to do that right now. I was in enough deep shit as it was… It was Westmorland that stopped the boy from going, glaring in T-Bag's direction as he asked the man if he had a better plan. It wasn't long before the boy broke under the weight of our stares, well mostly Westmorland's, T-Bag's, and C-Note's; I was too busy trying to formulate a way to break my own news to them. Once the boy had left I knew there was no turning back…

"So," I cleared my throat, gaining the other's attentions. I could tell they were still focused on the information that we had just learned, but, I think this is just a little bit more of it that they could either be pleased about or… "I guess this is a good time to tell you that I uh- I bought Michael's cell…" If looks could kill…

I rubbed my hands together, almost as if I was trying to warm them by a camp fire as I sat on the bottom bunk in Michael's cell, my feet planted firmly on the ground as I awaited his arrival; tell you the truth, its more of the nerves that were making me fidgety than just the cold draft that seemed to slither it's way though the old prison walls. I didn't know why I was so nervous, maybe it was happiness… I don't know. It reminded me of the same thing my mom used to do when she was waiting for my dad to return from a long business trip. She'd clean the house until it was spotless, every dish was polished to perfection, and she'd dress up in her best clothes. I didn't have the luxury to do that, and I wasn't sure if that's how I felt about Michael yet… The buzzing brought me from my thoughts as I looked up, my eyes gazing out of the cell doors that had just opened; I stood a deep breath, the butterflies in my stomach that had been laying dormant for the last few days returned as soon as his face entered my view, my fingers shaking slightly. I felt as if I was walking on air as I stood up from the bunk slowly, straightening my wrinkled clothes out. It was like I was seeing him for the first time; his smile glowed as he entered the cell, those thin pink lines twisted in that adorable smile of his. I didn't understand why I looked at him the way I did, sure, I tried not to make it obvious that an attraction was there, and it defiantly wasn't anything in the physical sense. I admired who he was, what he stood for…what he did for other people. "Hey." I greeted him quietly, standing in front of him awkwardly as he stopped, leaning against the metal frame of the two bunks. He continued to smile down at me, his eyes dancing across my face as he sighed out, his voice sending shivers up my spine; I miss his voice…

"Never thought I'd be so glad to be back in my cell." He commented, a chuckle rising in his throat. I chuckled slightly, looking down at the concrete as that strange feeling began to flutter in the pit of my stomach, my heart beating against my chest; well, that was certainly new… "Thank you." I didn't really know how it happened, but, the two of us were stuck together like glue. His arms wrapped around me as he held me close, my chin resting on his shoulder as I stood on the tips of my toes so I could actually get my arms completely around him; this feeling was so new, and extremely confusing…on one hand I wanted to understand it, but on the other hand I didn't…knowing that it would never be more, couldn't never be more, than just a _feeling._ I still wasn't sure how they managed to get Michael out of there, better yet, why was here there in the first place.

"Don't _ever_ do that again." I whispered in a scolding manner; the two of us pulling out of the embrace. I could still feel the warmth from his body, almost as if he was sticking to me, never letting go, even though were now standing apart. He smiled, a small chuckle arising from his throat as he looked at me; it was a different look, the intensity from his eyes as he looked at me matched the own foreign feeling that was filling my heart at the moment…I couldn't possibly be the same thing.

"Maybe this will make it up to you." He informed me stepping closer until we were toe to toe, the toes of our boots kissing. I had to look up just to get a good look at his face. "I uh- I made you something." He continued his voice low and somewhat shy. His slender fingers dug into the bottomless pit of his pants pockets, grouping around for something. "They let us make these and ashtrays," he went on, "Close your eyes." I knitted my brows but followed his directions, trusting him completely. "But, since you had asthma I figured you didn't need one-"

"You know Michael," I rounded on him, smiling slightly. "Extravagant gifts don't always mean girls are going to forgive you." I could hear him chuckle, my curiously growing. A few seconds later he said I could open my eyes, I did, but slowly. I laughed slightly as he held up a homemade macaroni necklace, I remembered making one back when I was in kindergarten…I gave it to my dad…he wore it around constantly. "It's-"

"It's a necklace." He chuckled to himself, informing me of the nature of his gift as if I couldn't figure it out on my own. It was a hell of a lot better than what I did twenty four years ago; the pasta was strung from either side of the string very simple…which surprised me since Michael was a very complex human being. "It's stupid," he chuckled; I could see his cheeks reddening in color.

"No, no." I laughed, taking the necklace from his hand as I examined it. Holding it in my fist delicately, "I mean I'm more of the bowtie type, but, I guess I'll let penne slide this time." I chuckled, hoping that my own joke was corny, but alas, it was. It was one of those moments, you know, those ones that seemed suspended in time, or those ones that you wish you could just freeze and look at for ever. It was like those sappy romance movies that came on television around Valentine's Day; you know, the one where a woman meets the man of her dreams under a most uncommon and unrealistic circumstance, and they life happily ever after? The ones that woman all over the world envied and looked up do for guidance in their times of need of love and attention. Everything felt too right thought; Michael's face was getting closer and closer to mine with each moment that passed, his head inclining and moving to that perfect degree so it was lined up with my own face. I was just as guilty of wanting this to happen as he seemed to be. My hand, still clutching the faux jewelry, placed itself on the side of his neck, covering the amount of tattoo that seemed to peak out from under the grey sweat shirt he was wearing. My breath hitched in my throat as I felt his hot breath tangle with mine, both of our lips parting as an electric shock jolted from the two of us, but then retreating, alas, brining the two of us closer, our lips brushed, oh so close…

But, the universe always had a way of fucking things up…

**A/N: Cliffhanger…I guess :] I'll give you all a hint: they didn't do what you think they did! Hope you all liked this one, I'm kind of iffy on it! Only four chapters left!**


	35. Authors Note Important Read

**Hi! I really do hate making you guys think that this an update :[ I'm really sorry!**

**I think you all deserve an explanation as to why I haven't updated this in like….forever! I really do apologize for the long wait; last month a lot of things were going on, my grades were slowly dropping as senioritis kicked into full gear (two months left!) I had a fair amount of personal and family issues to attend to during that time (I won't bore you with those though). **

**But, they seem to be letting up on the school work a little bit now! I was supposed to be back on my regular updating schedule this weekend, but, I wasn't feeling the Prison Break vibe! I'm slowly getting my muse and motivation back after having my nose stuck in books by Shakespeare, Marlow, and Dickens for the past almost two months. So glad that's over with!**

**Well, the good news is….my regular updating schedule will be back on March 18! Next Friday! So, expect updates both Friday and Saturday. And well, would you look at that, Spring Break is soon…so expect at least two updates everyday during spring break! **

**Oh! And just a little TV plug. If you haven't been watching A&E lately…go watch it! A Prison Break spin-off called Breakout Kings premiered last weekend, and guess who they're brining back in a few episodes? TBAG! :] It's a little scary that I'm excited to see him again. Lol. Oh, also for those that follow my Walking Dead Fic, the regular updating schedule will be back for that one as well, so updates both Friday and Saturday. **

**Andddd! I have a slew of Summer Projects in the works:**

**-Amityville Horror [ OC/OC]**

**-Battle: LA [ Imlay/OC]**

**-Criminal Minds [OC/OC/ Unsub]**

**-I Am Number Four [OC/ John *Friendship*]**

**[If you want to know the details about any of those…just let me know!] Gah! I'm really happy that my schedule is coming back!**

**Well, toodles :] And I hope you haven't given up on this story!**


	36. The Set Back

**A/N:** Finally! I'm back in the Prison Break vibe (all thanks to _Breakout Kings_)! I'm really, really, really incredibly sorry that I haven't updated in what feels like years to me! I really do apologize; a lot of stuff has been going on the last few months as my senior year draws to a close, I'm actually really nervous about that. But, fear not, this story will be done hopefully by the second week of April depending on how these next few weeks before Spring Break go! Thanks to all the new reviews/subscribers/favorites; they really do mean a lot!

**Disclaimer: No. I don't own Prison Break; anything that you recognize belongs to their respected owners.**

_Why am I doing this?_ I obviously wasn't in a clear state of mind at that moment, what could I possibly gain from doing this. His head dipped lower towards mine, the tips of his slender fingers propping themselves on my jaw line, and for a man in prison, he smelled wonderful. A part of me wanted this, wanted the reassurance of my escape and wellbeing; as if this would give me either of those things. "Michael," Scofield pulled away quickly, dropping his hand from the side of my face almost as if something had burned him, or my father's ghost has come back to show him who was boss. Westmorland's voice sounded more surprised than anything as I let my eyes trail towards the floor, my ears and cheeks burning hot with embarrassment, but, not because we had been "caught", hell, we didn't even do anything, but because of what I almost did, like it would have changed anything anyway. How could I have been so stupid, so naïve; I glanced up briefly, pushing a piece of hair behind my ear as I caught Michael's starring, a small awkward smile graced my lips before I made a bee line for the opened cell door. I could feel Westmorland's confused eyes starring after me as their voices faded in the distance. How could I have been this stupid, _note to self_, my inner voice made a mental note of the avoided catastrophe, _Thank Westmorland for his intrusion_; that old man well may have saved me from a regret that would linger with me for the rest of my life, plus, I barely knew Michael, actually I'd only known him for two months. I inwardly scoffed as I lingered in the door way of Westmorland and I's cell, leaning against the cold bars I looked down at the floor, studying the cracks that I had counted countless times. There were exactly twenty-two cracks in that one spot, believe me, I knew. Two months felt a lot like two years a place like this, I wonder how much the world's changed in the last two months. Has my mom changed? Has my apartment changed? Nothing was going to be the same after we got out of this place.

I was more than elated to know that most, if not all, of the winter's snow had melted into the ground over the course of the last few days; but it was still entirely too cold for me to be outside, but, alas no inmates wheter they were supposed to be here or not; yes, I will hold a grudge against this place until the day I die, were permitted and expected to spend at least an hour of their free time outdoors. Michael had told us earlier that Sucre was supposed to be released from Ad-Seg sometime during yard, call it a reunion if you will; things between us were still stretched. I shielded the sun from my eyes as I looked back down at the ground; I couldn't afford to be on bad terms with anyone in this little group right now, especially not Michael. The feelings I had towards him were stupid and undeveloped anyway, they didn't mean anything; a princess always wants to kiss her knight in shining armor right? A part of me felt relieved that it never went that far, it could have really complicated things. "Thanks, again." I slowly looked up from the blades of grass that were sneaking through the cracks in the asphalt as the sun shined off them, the calm voice still floating though my head; I shivered, and it wasn't from the almost non existent breeze that decided to make itself known either. He wore a crocked smile on his face, his cheeks tinted pink with the cold. "We wouldn't be here right now if it wasn't for you."

I shrugged nonchalantly, trying not to make eye contact with him as the butterflies returned; I couldn't understand why I was so nervous around him lately, other than that one obvious fact. I really didn't want to believe a word he just said, he could have done this without me, and he could have done this without me having to involve Emily in any of this, I looked back down at the ground. They could trace all this back to her when the realized our escape, which they would do almost immediately. I really was stupid wasn't I? "It's nothing, really." I reassured him, looking to the side, I shivered in disgust; T-Bag was standing against the wall to my left, a baseball cap pulled over his eyes as he watched the rest of the inmates conversed amongst each other. I was stuck between two people that I didn't want to be around, well, at least one that I didn't want to be around. I shivered once again as I felt Michael's hand perch itself on my shoulder, I turned and looked at him.

"I really mean that," he said lowly, his eyes shifted towards the ground for a moment as he slowly dropped his hand from my shoulder, letting it rest of my arm. "You know that right?" I could hear it, I _could_ really hear it; he was one of the most sincere people I'd ever met. I could feel my cheeks flush pink, but, before I could even get another word in a familiar Puerto Rican accent filled the small area that we were crowded around. Michael and I looked up at once, each of our faces mirroring each others as Sucre sauntered towards us, looking triumphant. I stayed back as he and Michael shared a hug, I smirked; it was funny how you could make friends in prison.

"Ya'll can sign each other's year books later," T-Bag announced, pushing himself from the wall; he never did like a reunion, meant that there was just one more person that couldn't stand being around him. "Where are we at?" he whined, like a little child. That was the only thing that left his mouth; variations upon variations of the most annoying question ever invented _"are we there yet."_

"The map is complete." Michael reassured him; his gaze rested on mine and he smiled slightly. "I got what I needed."

"Then we're ready?" T-Bag asked again, nag, nag, nag…that's all he was good for. I never participated in their "breakout" discussions, it was like I needed to battle for my civil rights among them; they were men, I was a woman…the only thing I was good for, according to T-Bag, was making sandwiches and having babies. Well, I'd hate to break it to em' but, I suck at making sandwiches; but, just because I didn't participate, didn't mean that I didn't listen.

"I know which pipes that we need to take below the Psych ward," Michael continued to explain, moving slowly, his hands shoved into his pockets as he walked around the other side of Westmorland to stare at the building that he had so cleverly gotten himself thrown into for a few days; the few days that I was on edge, the few days that I was terrified, the few days that I actually missed him. "Which means our way to the infirmary is clear." He stopped next to T-Bag, "But our new route takes us to the far side of that building. Which means we've got to walk down thirty feet of hallway to the doctor's office; our exit point." I looked down at the ground, moving to stand next to C-Note as Michael continued to update us on the progress that was being made. My attention span was beginning to falter as T-Bag bean to whine again; rolling my eyes I turned towards the mesh fence and watched beyond that gate. Those CO's were free, walking talking; laughing, conversing on their cell phones to their children, wives, parents…I wanted that. I wanted to be free, I wanted to walk and talk on my cell phone, I wanted to sleep without having to watch my back, I wanted to wake up to an alarm clock or the birds squeaking…not a buzzer. I wanted to be able to eat without having to worry about someone stabbing me with a fork…I wanted to live. The conversing civilians were blocked from my view as a tan colored bus pulled into the lot; I could just see T-Bag's face now…more prey for him. Their bright yellow jumpsuits reflected the sun in such a way they almost glowed as they stepped off the bus, the rest of the prisoners in the yard had gathered around, laughing amongst themselves.

"No," I whispered, my mind screaming something completely different as my eyes trailed up the legs of one of the "new" inmates; he was tall, stocky, a red scar extended around his neck like he had been hung by a noose and cut down just in time. I almost didn't recognize _Abruzzi _without his signature slicked back do'. "Oh my god," I breathed out my voice shaking as he looked in our direction. I saw him die. _Maybe you didn't_. But…his blood, too many things flashed though my. His blood was on my hands…stains still littered one of the old prison shirts that eventually had to be thrown away because of it…

Word spread quickly in this place; even before chow rolled around practically all the inmates and officers knew that the mod boss was back. The chow line moved slowly as old and new inmates alike strained their necks to catch a glimpse of the man, almost as if he was some rare breed of animal that was on the brink of extinction. I turned a few times as well, but, not out of curiosity. Something had changed about the cold hearted Italian; he was sitting alone…with a bible…and a rosary. I guess meeting death first hand really does change some people. Michael was waiting at the end of the chow line when I finally managed to reach it, the try holding food that looked as if it had seen better days…the last time Dr. Tancredi had weight me I had dropped down to one-fifteen, probably not a healthy weight for a woman like me. Maybe I was anxious, or maybe it was the nerves, either way, as we approached the almost vacant table that John was occupying my stomach did a series of summersaults and flips, turning itself inside out as it remembered the last time I had seen him. He was helpless the last time I'd seen him, bleeding out on a concrete floor, gasping for breath and afraid…and I had helped him; that had to have gotten me at least a few kudos…right? "Hello, John." Michael greeted him for the two of us.

"Michael," his voice was raspier than I had last remembered it, he stood slowly. I could almost see Michael tense as the mob boss wrapped his arms around the slender inmate that was standing next to me, embracing him in a hug. My jaw opened slowly as Michael gave me a sideways glance of confusion; John had done a complete three-sixty, the first time we met he looked at me as if he was going to murder me right in front of God and everybody else. Michael's eyes were still dancing with lingering questions as Abruzzi pulled away, a smile gracing his lips once again as he looked at me.

"Erica," I strained up, I wasn't aware that he even knew my name; he had always called me 'kid' from the start. His feet shuffled across the floor as he closed the small space between us; I tensed as I felt my body press against his. It was an unusual hug, not at all like the few that Michael and I had shared, but it felt more…fatherly, almost?

"Hi, John." I drawled out slowly as he pulled away, leaving me as dumbfounded as Michael had been. "How are you?" I gave Michael a sideways glance, unsure of how I was supposed to approach a normal conversation with the new John Abruzzi.

"Any day above ground is a blessing." He replied, I knitted my brows together for a moment; my mind still trying to process and get used to the new John that was standing before us. I had always thought that people completely changing their lives around due to a near death experience was just a hoax, surely a man that had killed fathers, brothers, and uncles with his bare hands without any sense of remorse whatsoever couldn't become a saint in a little under a month. In a way, the new John scared me more than the old one…what if the old one decided to come back…I wasn't entirely sure if he would be able to handle switching between the two. "Sit, sit." He said quickly, his movements rapid and disorganized as he slumped back down into his own chair. "Please?" He gestured towards the two empty seats that were accompanying his table. Michael sat first, quickly complying with the man's pleas; I stood for a moment longer, hesitating before I slowly lowered myself down into the chair next to Michael.

"A lot of rumors going around, " Michael sounded after a moment of brief silence, lowering his voice so just the three of us could understand his words; his blue eyes shifted about the room several times. My eyes were trained on Abruzzi, watching as his calloused fingers fiddled with the silver rosary as he twirled it between his fingers, a bible laid open in front of him. "We're glad you're back."

"I'm surprised you're still here," John looked up momentarily from his readings glancing at the two of us; I couldn't help but feel a trace amount of guilt as he said this. "I figured you would have been gone by now." Much to my surprised not a hint of sarcasm or anger was laced within those few statements, I mean, John had been an asset to Michael's plan since, I'm assuming, the day the blue eyed beauty convinced this idea in his head.

"Yeah, well, we had a few setbacks." He replied; my eyes continued to trace the invisible patterns into the food as the two talked. Apparently, the new Abruzzi had no problem whatsoever breaking out of prison; even though I'm sure I'd learned in Sunday school that God frowned upon actions such as these. Pushing the food away from me and into the middle of the table I looked to the right, my eyes catching the stares that T-Bag and his little followers were giving us. I bet he was surprised, he thought he had gotten rid of him, thought he had killed and him and the he wouldn't be in his way. Those two had been at each other's throats (literally) since the day T-Bag decided to join in on the excursion

"If you'll excuse me." He excused himself; I looked up and watched as John's over six foot tall frame towered over the two of us, the bible held fast in his hands and the rosary clutched between his fingers…he looked like a priest, a scary one, but a priest none the less. He mumbled something about having a blessed day before he stalked off, leaving Michael and I in the awkward silence that had been following the two of us since our 'almost' kiss in his cell the other day. Everything I thought about that day my gut twisted in a knot and the annoying and childish butterflies returned to their fluttering; both of us were just guilty about it wanting it to happen, otherwise we wouldn't have but ourselves in that situation, but, looking back on it…I'm glad it didn't happen. It would have just complicated things; as if they were complicated enough already.

"Never expected this to happen." He mumbled I turned and looked at him for a moment, a smile creeping across my lips; I knew what he was talking about. Drumming my fingers on the table I nodded my head in agreement.

"So, he's still going to help us." I asked my voice somewhat skeptical; once I noticed T-Bag starring at was across the way any and everything John had said to Michael was a jumbled mess of unidentifiable words and raspy sounds. "I mean…he didn't go all crusaders for Christ did he?" Michael snorted at the derogatory term for Christians; don't get me wrong, I had nothing against them, but, I'd met a few in my day that were a little too into the religion for it to have been healthy for them. I wasn't sure if he realized that he had an infectious smile, it seemed that whenever it spread across his face, no matter the situation, even the most hardened of criminals cracked one as well.

"He's still providing the plane." Michael replied, his eyes trailing towards the white face of the table for a few moments; I hated it when he got quiet all of a sudden, sure, I'd only known him for two months, but, after being stuck in one place when him for that long you start to notice signs of when he's about to breaking pivotal news to you. It was either that or there was another setback. "But," he looked up towards me, I inwardly scoffed; the pawn. I knew that look, that look or regret that crossed over his features every time he wanted me to do something to advance this plan; his eyes would get heavy and his voice low as if he was already preparing for an outburst…well, if he hadn't noticed already I was a bit of a pushover, never gave anyone any problems. "There's one more thing that we need." He was silent for a few more seconds, "The key to the infirmary."

"And you need me to get it?" it was more a statement than a question, biting my bottom lip I shook my head slightly, both condemning and agreeing the request all at once. Michael really needed to learn how to use his looks to get what he wanted; I'm almost more than one-hundred percent positive that Dr. Tancredi would slip the key to him as soon the request rolled of his tongue. Trying to talk to Sara, for me, was like pulling teeth; she obviously didn't think highly of me, no, it wasn't even that…she just didn't like me…and I wasn't even entirely sure why that was.

"Erica," my name rolling off his tongue was like silk, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end as I listened to him speak. "I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't absolutely necessary." He explained. I turned towards him, nodding slowly; he meant well, I knew he did; besides, wasn't I the one that was always talking about how he couldn't do this all on his own. I mean…how hard could getting a kay be?

The answer to that question was simple; nearly fucking impossible. Number one, I didn't know which key I need to get, I could vaguely remember Michael telling me it was one with a orange holder around the top but a key's color was the last thing on my mind; it buzzed more with the consequences if I got caught with the key, or better yet, if Sara saw me with it. I knew for a fact, or I at least assumed, that she wouldn't hesitate to tell the Warden all about it. No only would Michael be upset with me, but I'd have red targets splattered all over my back; mostly from "old" Abruzzi that I'm sure would return as soon as I let them know that I didn't have the key, and T-Bag, but, I'm sure his red target would never go away. Number two, she was always starring at me; her eyes were huge and they made me uneasy at times as she would watch every move I made, almost as if she was waiting for me to break the routine and do something wrong. Many a times I'd try to start a friendly conversation with her, I mean, she was important to my mother on some level wasn't she? I felt sick to my stomach every time that revelation replayed in my mind, I wasn't the jealous type, but the green monster was eating at the soul purely due to the fact that Sara seemed to be more important to her, hell, it made me wonder just how many times I might have ran across her whenever I brought my mother's dinner to her AA meetings. Failure, unfortunately, wasn't an option at this point in the game; I could see Michael starring at me from across the yard as I held the phone close to my ear, looking behind me every so often; I hated having my back to the rest of the inmates, even though I was almost sure that Michael would clamor to my aid if anything were to go wrong; the shrill ringing of the phone on the other end sounded for the third time. "Come on, Emily," my teeth tore at my bottom lip, gnawing at it as I pushed a strand of hair behind my ear; the phone rang again. "Pick up, pick up." I whispered impatiently, heart beating against my chest. The last thing I wanted to do was to get her involved in this, she didn't deserve this, oh god, Erica just hang up…

"Hello? Erica?" I closed my eyes regret filling the bottom of my stomach as I listened to her voice on the other line; I didn't deserve a friend like her. I leaned against the small phone booth like area that barely gave you enough privacy, and I prayed to god that these guards didn't tap the phone lines in this place.

"Yeah, it's me." I responded, if I didn't change my tone of voice she'd know something was wrong. "How'd you know it was me?" She chuckled on the other end of the line, an uneasy one at that. This would be the second time in a little under a week that I had called in a favor…from prison…looks like it only took me a total of two months to conform their ways.

"Well," she sighed; I could hear a few things clanging in the background. I could only guess that was making lunch, or, depending on if I had woken her up, breakfast…even though it was well into the afternoon. "You're the only one I know that has the ID 'prison' when they call." I scoffed in good taste, knowing that she meant it in a humors way. "Is everything alright?" The way she asked this question was never in its normal context, I could genuinely hear the concern in her voice the last few times she had called, but I always tell her the same thing…

"Yeah, Em." I replied, turning once again to glance in the direction of the other inmates; mainly the group that was huddled over near the fence on the opposite side of the yard, talking amongst themselves. Michael was the only one not engaging in conversation, I had noticed, his eyes were trained on me. Whether he was watching for protective reasons or making sure that I wasn't dilly-dallying with my time was beyond me. "Everything's alright." I responded quickly, I could see a few inmates walking my way now; both of them were muscular, branded with swastikas, shaved heads…and they looked meaner than hell, quickly diverting my gaze towards the ground I explained my situation to my friend quickly. "Look, there's- there's something that I need you to do, okay?" I didn't need to turn around to know that the two skinheads were standing behind me, sweat beaded upon my brows and the palms of my hands were clammy.

"Okay," the word drawled from the other side of the pone slowly, the voice laced with skepticism and it rang with uneasiness. "What-what is it?" I closed my eyes for a moment, rehearsing the question. There was nothing that I could do that was going to make this request any easier to deal with.

"You know my mom's usual schedule for lunch, right?" I inquired, scratching my chin and picking at the skin on my nails; by the time got out of this place I was going to need skin graphs just to repair the damage I was sure, it was a nervous habit that I don't believe I was ever going to break. "On Wednesdays?"

"Doesn't she have lunch with the AA attendees on Wednesdays?" Good, she remembered my mothers' never changing schedule; for as long as I could remember she would meet the AA group down at the Double Diner in Chicago, new and old attendees like. Very seldom did I ever join them, actually, I'd only ever went to one in the whole fourteen years that she'd been doings; I found the little get-togethers to be a little too depressing to sit thought most of the time, I swore my mother was a saint in the making. But, why did it matter that she had lunch with them? Sara Tancredi, that's what mattered.

"Yeah," I quickly replied, letting her know that she had guessed right, " Listen," I paused again, the sentence replying in my head like a broken record, but the words were unable to leave the confides of my mouth, like they were in a foreign language and unable to roll off my tongue. "I know- I know this is going to sound crazy- but," my heart beat against my chest with the force of a thousand tons, my palms sweat dripping down the bridge of my nose; I hadn't realized that they first half of my speech had rolled out of my mouth in a jumbled mess of labored breaths and broken words.

"Erica, is something wrong?" she questioned; yeah, I was easy to read…even through the phone. "You've been acting really strange lately-"Yeah_, I'm in prison, that might be the reason why I'm acting so strange. _She knew something was wrong the day I called to give her my credit card number, she knew something was wrong to the day she brought me the money, and she knew something was wrong when I wouldn't even look her in the eye. If I told her, it would be a load off my chest, and really, I did want to tell her…

"Em, I'm fine." I reassured her, I didn't want to suffer the damages of letting an "outsider" in on the escape plan; she would tell the whole world in an instant, though, I'm pretty sure that what I was asking her to do was going to tip it off anyway. "I really don't know how many times I need to explain this to you." She sighed out heavily; hurt. I knew she was just trying to be the best friend that I knew she was, friends helped friends in this type of situations. "Look, I need you to meet my mother at the diner that they always go to." I continued to explain, closing my eyes as the lump formed in the middle of my throat; _I don't want her to do this_. "There should be a group there, including a woman named Sara Tancredi."

"Wait," she questioned, "Did you just say Tancredi?" Sara was right; people really did overreact when they heard that last name.

"Yes," I replied quickly; turning as I watched the skinheads behind me lifted their chins towards the sky, jerking them in my direction as if to tell me that I needed to hurry up. I didn't need to be told twice, besides, I didn't have the guts to tell them that there was a free phone on the other side. "Just-"I paused again, I would never have been able to think of something as complicated as this if I was outside of prison; two months in a place like this really changes you, and I wasn't sure if it was for the good. "I need you to get a key from her, okay? But, don't ask her for it."

"You want me to take it?" it wasn't an outburst, but, it was enough to wrack my eardrums for a bit. I should have known that she was going to react like this, I mean, how would you react if someone called you…from prison…asking you to steal something for them. I agreed with her reaction on some level, this did sound a bit ridiculous coming from someone like me. "Are-are you out of your mind!"

"Once you have it," I continued, ignoring her outburst; I could still hear her protesting on the other line, a stream of 'no' and 'are you crazy' assumptions streaming though the phone and mixing in with the most important part of my conversation, "Come by visitation and ask to see Michael Scofield," she still continued to protest, her voice sill raging with 'no, I won't do it.' And 'what are you talking about' until I finally said his name, I'm sure she'd heard of his bank robbery on the news when it first happened, she was a TV junkie, that's all she ever did was watch television. "Give the key to him-"

"Erica, stop!" I immediately went rigid at the tone of her voice; she'd never gotten hostile with anyone but the teachers as the college, and even then she didn't raise her voice that much, it was the cross between a scream and a yell. "Just stop! Why are you doing this? This is nuts…this…this isn't like you." Her voice shook on the other line; I felt terrible, miserable even at this point. "You're in trouble…I know you are-"

"You said you wanted to help me?" I questioned; the only way she was going to do this was if I guilt tripped her into it. Jesus, I really was just as bad the people I had become acquainted with.

"Of course, but, Erica-"I could tell just from the tone of her voice that it was working; she was a softie despite her attitude towards some things. She wasn't one to let something important to her slid through her fingers. _"Come on," _the gruff voice from behind me ordered, I turned momentarily to look at the two men behind me, they way the light was hitting their broad shoulders, casting a shadow across their faces, made them look even more menacing then they actually were. _"We haven't got all fucking day."_ I hated doing this, but obviously any attempts that were being made outside of the prison to help me were proving futile…this was my last and only option; I'm quite sure it had been like this since day one.

"Then do this." I mustered up the last bit of whatever courage was swirling around my voice box before I hung up the phone abruptly, not wanting –no- it was more of me not being able to deal with the regret that was weighing me down. Nothing I had ever done could ever make me feel like this…not even killing that man.

* * *

**Emily Pov**

"Hope you all don't mind," Ms. Jones had always been the friendliest woman I'd ever met, taking anyone that needed help under her wing and watchful eye; but right now she was blind to the betrayal that was hovering next to her in the form of my rigid and astonishingly slim frame, I couldn't look anyone of those individuals in the eye as I slid into the booth next to the graying-haired woman, "But, we're going to have someone joining us today." The smile she put on for these people was a fake; she called me almost every day, sometimes I didn't pick up because I knew exactly what the conversation was going to consist of. She blamed herself for the situation that Erica was in, hell, I even blamed myself for the situation she was in, but now, now I was blaming Erica for the situation that she had put me in. "This is my daughter's best friend, Emily." She introduced me as I looked at the faces; there was an Asian woman, hair as dark and night and wearing a floral sweater. A man sat next to her, hair as white as snow, his skin looked fragile and angelic; if I even thought about touching it he could crack into a million pieces. I glanced down at the small space that was sitting between me and other woman that was making herself known as she glanced in my direction; a black sweater adorned her fragile frame, and red hair covered her head. A beige purse sat between us; it looked heavy, and if I knew one thing from reading _Cosmopolitan_…a heavy purse meant someone with deep seat emotional issues and a lot of baggage. I raised an eyebrow, maybe that's why she was in AA meetings in the first place. My stomach churned as the small badge that was clipped to the side of the purse let itself be known, almost as if it was dancing right in front of my face…Sara Tancredi. Doing the 'bump-and-swipe', as it's called on the streets, was a hell of a lot harder than television makes it out to be, your calculations have to be perfect and your timing precise; it was a real pain the ass, especially when I could feel my face heat with anticipation no doubt casting a light pink haze across my cheeks, quite visible enough for the rest of the table to see. It wasn't until Sara excused herself to the bathroom that I succeeded in doing what I came here to do; I hoped my shaking fingers grabbing the keys weren't noticeable to the conversing crowd as she passed.

That trip to the prison was the longest drive I've ever taken, my fingers constantly drummed against the black faux leather of the steering wheel, knuckles white as snow, and heart pounding. I stepped on the break lightly as I neared the entrance of the prison, looking at the gates that were open, welcoming me with open arms so to speak. I still didn't understand Erica's actions, and maybe I didn't want to understand them….but she sounded so desperate, like her very life depended on it. We, meaning her mother and I, needed to get her out of this place as soon as possible, we couldn't let this charade of her being in Asia drag out any longer than it already had. As if the student's hadn't started to wonder already, now they were constantly reading her Myspace accounts and sending her emails, checking on her status. One of them, oh, I could feel my blood boil already, even had to nerve to ask if she was still alive or not; if only he knew, if only…

The inside of the prison was dirtier than I had remembered it, the walls were yellowed and cracked with age, and the halls suffered from a musty smell as I walked towards the visitation room; outside the door sat a makeshift desk, accompanied by a correctional officer. My inner self whispered words of encouragement as I sauntered towards the desk, holding the purse close to me, the ring of keys that were sitting in the front pocket felt like a tons of bricks. The CO must have heard me approaching, for he looked up slowly a grim look washing over his weathered features. "Visitation?" he asked rather rudely; I cocked an eyebrow, trying to suppress the eye roll that I could feel coming about, my right eye twitched slightly. No, idiot, that's why I'm walking though a prison…, stopping at the visitation desk, for Christ sake. I nodded, nether the less, not offering him the usual smile that I would have supplied with an authority figure, like I said, I didn't care much for cops. "Name?" he started at me dumbly, shoving the clipboard towards me.

Gripping the pen that was sitting at the top I placed the tip against the whiteface of the pile of dead trees; but not without noticing how empty the log looked. Were the people in this prison that bad that people didn't want to visit their own kin? I shuddered at the thought as I watched a pool of black ink cascade from the tip of the pen, staining the paper with a dot. Name… "Do you mean the inmates or…" my sentence trailed off as he Co gave me attitude, once again, rolling his eyes and grabbing the clipboard back, mumbling something about 'what part of name don't you understand' under his breath. If he wanted to get smart with me I'd gladly get just as testy back; I was known for my sarcastic outbursts from time to time, not to mention the ability to be as equally nasty as someone else. That's the rule my mom lived by and taught me; treat others as you'd want to be treated.

"Your name?" he demanded, his voice board and lacking any enthusiasm that he may have held for his job earlier on in his life; not wanting to stand in front of him for much longer, no did I want to be in the place either, I stated my name, watching as he scribbled it down on the paper quickly. "And the inmate you're visiting…" My mind went blank for a moment, now I was the one wearing the dumbfounded look across my face; when she called I had been so caught up in trying to figure out her motive that I hadn't paid enough attention to the name if my life depended on it. Wait, something clicked, it started with and M…Micah, Merle, Mike…Michael! The CO had already begun to tap his fingers impatiently on the desk, his unattractively long nails scraped against the cheap surface of the fake hard plastic. Last name….S….

"Michael Scofield." I finally answered, my eyes shifting to either side of my vision slightly; hopefully I got his name right. How stupid would I look? Walking in here and saying the wrong name…it's like I couldn't be 'oh, sorry, wrong prison'…I mean, it's not like I called the wrong number. The CO's finger moved the slender form of the pencil over the paper slowly, his eyebrows rising as he reached under the desk, passing off a laminated 'Visitors' pass in my direction. I shifted my gaze in both directions as he looked down at the log in sheet again, scoffing and smiling at the same time…what was his problem? It was kinda making me nervous…

"Mmmm. Scofield's a popular one." He commented, I continued to stare at him as I hooked the visitor's pass onto the breast of my jacket; knitting my brows together. "You're the third person to visit him this month." He couldn't even hide the skepticism in his voice if he tried; he clearly wasn't trying to hide the fact that he was nosey. My heart jolted slightly; if I wasn't the only person visiting him he was obviously operating things outside of the prison as well. Drug ring? Bunny Ranch? Arms Dealer? I knew Erica would do what was necessary to hold out until her mother found a way to get her out…I just hope she didn't get herself involved in something dangerous…or illegal.

"Oh, well," I sighed, I hadn't even prepared myself for what this Scofield guy might be like; in looks nor in personality. "He's just an old colleague." I answered shortly, chewing on the inside of my cheek.

"It's none of my business." He shrugged, standing up from his spot at the desk he pulled a ring of keys from his back pocket, the jingle sounded eerily slowly as I watched the door open. "You've got ten minutes." It seemed that my stride had a mind of it's own as I walked towards the visitation room; they were slow and lethargic, almost like my feet were encased in cement blocks as they drug across the floor. I jumped slightly as the door closed behind me, leaving me alone in the damp room, which was surprisingly cold for it being almost spring, with a figure. That said figure was sitting at one of the many tables that were empty…I must have beat the traffic today. Taking a deep breath I began to walk towards the small table, holding the purse closer to me with each stride I took as I neared the table; before I could even pull the chair out from under the table the man turned. I paused, like a wild animal that had just been spotted, my gaze never tearing from his as I looked him over. He wore the standard prison issued clothing, his head was shaved, and features soft and smooth as butter; I could see why she agreed to help him out…this man was nothing short of gorgeous, and he didn't seem like he posed much a threat. Then again…weren't most of the world's most notorious serial killers attractive? I was going to have to restrain myself from asking what he was in here for.

"Michael Scofield." It was more of a statement than an inquiry, and my voice was barely above its normal octave as I took a seat slowly; Michael looked at me, a small smile tugging at his lips as he extended his hand across the table.

"You're Emily, then?" he asked, my eyes drifted down towards his hand; my eyes trailed over the black ink that adorned his wrist as the sleeve rode up his arm slowly. I wasn't going to associate myself with a criminal, no matter how good looking he may have been, or how safe he may have seemed. I nodded in a response, watching as he reluctantly pulled his hand back towards him. "Listen, I can't thank you enough-"

"Whatever you're doing," I interrupted him quickly, lifting my eyes from the table so I could finally look at him; his eyes were quite captivating the say the least, the bluest- blue I'd ever seen actually. "Leave her out of it." He let his eyes trail towards the table, my brows knitted together with confusion; he seemed too guilty to be doing this. Almost like he himself was being forced to be here…it didn't make any sense. "She doesn't need any trouble. Just-just leave her alone." I had to make this clear to him; even if I had to spell it out…he needed to understand that the situation she was in was complicated.

"I know," he answered slowly, his face rising to meet mine. His expression held a sense of pain to it, resentment almost. "I'm- I'm trying to help her." My breath caught in my throat as the words tumbled from his lips, but, it wasn't the words that he said that caught me by surprise…it was how sincere he sounded…almost like he cared.

Attractive and Sensitive; prison wasn't shaping out to be that bad. Shaking the thoughts from my mind I quickly reached into the side pocket of my purse, my fingers fumbling for the silver instruments haphazardly. Finally getting a hold of them I more or less flung them across the table, guilt building in the pit of my stomach as I watched his hands close around ring of keys slowly, drawing them towards himself. "Thank you." His voice was a little above a whisper, not that I could actually hear it over the sound of the metal chair scraping across the floor.

"Whatever you're doing…leave her out of it."

**End Pov**

How could I have involved her in this? My hands ran down my face for the hundredth time the day, pulling at my skin as I wallowed in my self-pity and guilt. Was this escape really worth it? Was getting my innocent friend, and probably the only ally I had outside of these walls, really worth it? I would completely understand if Emily didn't show up for visitation, hell, I would probably even applaud of her of not falling under my impression; I could feel my bottom lip quiver again as I thought about the reciprocations that she could face because of this. They had a log; everyone had to sign it when they came to visitation. I shook my head as I sniffled again, forcing the tears that were brimming my eyes to withhold their release, to go back where they came from. Linking her to Michael once we out of this place was inevitable; then she would be hauled off to some god forsaken prison for abetting an escape. I really had no one to blame but myself for the situation that I was facing; from bow to stern this was my fault, I couldn't blame Mr. Samuels, he tried his best to talk me out of this. I couldn't blame my other, and I was starting to think that I couldn't blame Pope either…they all tried to talk me out of this, but, no. I just had to get this job at the times; I just had to make my dead father proud. "You're so stupid," I mumbled, turning my face away from the sun that had decided to let its face show for the last portion of yard, quite possibly, if this plan decided to work (and now…I secretly wished it didn't just for the sake of Emily's safety), the last yard time I'd ever see. Don't get me wrong, the thought of getting out of this place and never having the hear the sound of a buzzer or the clang of the metal gates opening ever again was an elating feeling, probably one the best I'll ever have. That didn't stop the fact that…what did that matter; that whole 'thinking I had feelings for Michael' period was over with, I wanted to be close to him, yes, I could see now that was probably a big mistake too.

I let my eyes drift across the yard slowly, looking for a familiar face; C-Note, Sucre, Westmorland, and thankfully, T-Bag were no were in sight. After Michael was called down to visitation and I was left alone with my thoughts I decided that spending my time with them would just result in threats and questions; something that I wasn't looking forward to. The figure that caught my eye was probably the last person I would have thought myself to want to be around; David sat propped up against one of the stone walls that separated the training equipment from the rest of yard, and like me, he was alone. I hadn't seen or heard much out of him since we were separated a few days ago. Granted, I hadn't tried to have a conversation with him or even attempt at any sort of communication due to the stares his new cellmate always gave me; he was big guy, in both weight and height, I swear he must have stood at least six feet tall. And he was ruthless, in both appearance and manner…definitely not someone that I wanted to piss off unintentionally. That didn't stop me from seeing it; the hurt in David's eyes, the way he tensed whenever 'Avocado', yes, what a ridiculous name, was around him…you could almost feel his fear radiating off him. Not seeing any sign of the giant ape that god decided to call a man, I stood up slowly, deciding that it couldn't hurt to be a friend right now… god only knows I needed one too.

"Hey," I greeted him, my back sliding down the face of the stone wall as I slowly settled myself down onto the grass next to him. I half expected him to light up at the sight of me, not trying to sound too high on myself or anything, maybe even throw a few jokes my way; but he did none of the sort. Instead he looked away, his fingers fiddling with the glades of grass as he plucked them up from the ground, twirling them around his finger for a few moments before he threw to the wind.

"Sup," he answered his voice distressing in a sense, on the brink of being ashamed. I knew something was wrong the minute he didn't call me 'bon-bons', though, I can't say that I missed that nickname all that much. I really didn't know how I was supposed to break passed the barrier that he'd probably surrounded himself with, having to keep his soft side under wraps in a place like this, but I could see that hardened shell of his breaking. All was silent for a few moments, nothing but the sound of the other inmates jeering and carrying on and the occasional sound of the grass snapping in the breeze filled the yard as I continued to sit next to the troubled teen. "Screw Honus Wagner," he suddenly scoffed, I had been so busy inspecting the line of ants that were crawling their way through the grassy jungle that I hadn't even noticed that he'd broken from his earlier trance and was now starring across the yard. Knitting my brows together I follow his gaze, shuddering as the realism of what he was looking at overtook me; his cellmate was laid our across the grass, his gaze transfixed on the two of us in a hard glare…great, another X added to my back. Tearing my eyes away from the sight I looked back in David's direction, our movements mirroring each others as his gaze met mine almost instantly.

"Who?" I inquired, my eyes training to slits as the sun moved across the sky again, obscuring my vision, I cupped my forehead, waiting for David to go on with his, what sounded, confession.

"This kid in my neighborhood." He sighed again, his gaze turning away from me as he leaned his head against the stone wall, looking up towards the sky and closing his eyes for a moment. Of course, I thought; David had never told me what he was incarcerated for; he only had given me the small details…the bump-and-swipe. Maybe he stole something from him… "His dad had a baseball card collection," again, his eyes trained themselves towards the ground, unable to look my way. I didn't mean to let my gaze sift towards the nasty creature that was watching us from afar, a threatening look in his eyes as he narrowed them in my direction; I was invading his space, hogging his _property_. Avocado had made it very clear to everyone that David belonged to him, regret settled in my heart for a moment. I'd spoken so ghastly of the teen in his first few days here, wishing that he would be taken away from my presence so I could at least have one ounce of peace in this place…but I never wanted him to have to endure _that_. "So, you know, I figure I'd swipe it. I could get some party cash, ya' know?" I focused my attention back on him, eyes heavy with regret, my heart still feeling the same way. "There was one card in there," he continued to explain, his voice faltering with each sentence, head weaving back and forth slight as he fiddled with his fingers, " A 1910 Honus Wagner. It doesn't mean nothing to me, you know, hoops is my sport." I genuinely hoped that what David was telling me wasn't true, at least how I was interpreting it wasn't what got him landed in this place. "This card," he bit his bottom lip, holding up a finger and shaking it violently for a moment. "It was worth three hundred-thousand dollars." He was quiet for a few moments, my hand involuntarily placing itself on his wrist. "So they slapped me with grand larceny."

He need not go any farther, I could pretty much figure out for myself that this was the reason why he was here; in a maximum security prison, a prison that was usually reserved for the worst of the worst…all because of a baseball card. I shook my head apologetically, still trying to comprehend what I had just learned. His reason for being in here didn't even compare to mine, hell, it didn't compare to any of the other crimes that had been committed to gain entrance into a place such as this. "So that's why I'm here," he continued to rant, his voice breaking with each syllable. "That's why I'm sittin' on a nickel getting' turned out like a little bitch. A baseball card." He sniffled, looking back up at me, his fingers property wiping the freshly shed tears away from his cheeks; hiding them from both me and the rest of the inmates that were walking about. He had no reason being here, granted, stealing was wrong…but a baseball card? He was a saint compared to the rest of the inmates, and dare I say it, me, that were wasting away in this place. I blinked a few times…_he doesn't deserve to be here._

* * *

I had somewhat abandoned David since our conversation, not willingly, might I add; Avocado decided to let his control over the teen be known, it was more of David's idea to have me abandon my post next to him anyway. I was currently perched against the mesh fence that separated the yard from I guess what could be called the outside world, my mind swirling with thoughts of today's events; I still hadn't seen Michael, knowing that he had been called out for visitation, and then for his routine shots that he got daily. There was no way of knowing if Emily went through with what I asked her to do, my head dropped towards the ground as I studied the blades of green grass beneath my feet; her life, within the next few weeks…was going to be just as shot as mine was now, and from what I could see, in the future. David was another topic that seemed to slither into my mind from time to time since earlier today…I needed to do something to help him; but the only way I could do that was to take him with us on our excursion, and I knew Michael wouldn't allow that to happen, not to mention the rest of the group. And Michael, somehow that incident a few days ago just didn't seem to want to leave me alone. "Erica," I looked up quickly, the cool voice sending a shiver up my spine just as a cluster of clouds overhead hid the heat of the sun from my view; it if were anyone else standing before me I would have shied away from them, come to think of it, I still did with many of the inmates…even Sucre at times; but, with Michael it was different. It certainly wasn't hard to trust, he always gave off that vibe…it was hard for me to explain, and to somewhat understand. The small smirk on his face gave the good news away, correction, good news for us…bad new for Emily; lifting his hand he showed be the ring of keys, the one with the orange cap catching my eye. The regret settled in the pit of my stomach once again, churning with unsettling results.

"She-um-she came through." I questioned meekly, flashing a timid smile as I gestured towards the keys; just as quickly as they had appeared, they disappeared. I was taking advance of Emily's 'Good Samaritan' side, one that was reserved for people that she cared about and trusted.

"Yeah," Michael answered, his eyes narrowing slightly, but not menacingly so; they looked more skeptical, figures he knew something was going on with me…I was never good at hiding my emotions. "She uh-"he laughed slightly, that infectious crooked smirk sneaking upon his thin lips, "she made it very clear that she wanted me to leave you alone." I looked down at the ground for a moment, shying away from his sparkling gaze as I laughed.

"Yeah, that sounds about right." I'm glad I never took for granted what wonderful people I still had in my life, though, every time I thought of a certain one my heart fell from its place in my chest and settled in my stomach, but, when I thought of another…it grew in size and seemed to falter whenever they were around; the startling realization of loosing one of those people became more prevalent every minute of every day, and the feeling was nauseating almost. "So," everything was awkward all of a sudden and a soft breeze began to flow though the yard, chilling me to the bone. "This is gonna get us out of here?" I asked.

He nodded slowly, hands shoved in his pockets as he glanced around the yard for a few moments, eyes glancing left and right; almost like he was looking for someone, or watching for some impending doom. "If everything goes as planned." He mused, for some reason that didn't give me the solace that it was supposed to, on account that most of the plans that had been had to be alternated and reworked some several times. Everything was quiet again, leaving the two of us to relish in whatever thoughts or regrets that ere dancing within our minds at the current moment; mine were the same as they were before, though, the focus was different. I hadn't done much to contribute to this whole plan, especially the initial digging portion; but, I hadn't done a bulk of the emotionally straining work (i.e. involving people that hadn't needed to be involved)…it was only fair that Michael do something for me, though, I owed him tenfold for what he was doing for me.

"Michael," I asked quietly; he looked up quickly, almost as if he was awaiting the sound of my voice. Swallowing the lump of fear that was bubbling in my throat I looked to the side; of course I was afraid of rejection. "Can I uh- ask you something?" he shifted his weight to his other foot, nodding in my direction to continue. His eyes sparkled with undivided attention as he focused his whole being on me. "Okay," I whispered, still trying to muster up the courage that I needed. "I need- I need to ask you as favor." He knitted his brows together at this, becoming very interested now.

"What kind of favor?" he inquired, a confused look still stretched across his features. I never realized just how intimidating Michael was until this moment, his eyes boring down into mine with an instance since of questioning; my heart raced in my chest, mouth suddenly dry as the Sahara, and hands shaking, though, unnoticeably so.

"Um- I was just wondering um- since well, I was talking-" I didn't know how to ask this, the words jumbled together in a mess of tangled sentences and words as I tried to formulate the best way possible of asking this 'favor'. _"Michael, you find out a way into the infirmary yet?" _I didn't know wheter to be relieved or furious by the sudden interruption, the think accent belonging to none other than Sucre as he seemed to appear out of thin air; he looked from the two of us, head moving side to side. I looked down at the ground as I shuffled my feet, burrowing them in the grass, I could still feel Michael's eyes boring into me.

"We've got that under control." Michael answered the man shortly, I looked up abruptly; he was quick to change moods, usually, he was quite well under pressure. "Erica, what did you want to ask me?" Sucre looked at me shortly; he too must have realized the pinch of hostility that was held in Michael's voice at the moment.

Sucre continued to stare at the two of us, and if I couldn't feel the tension in the air before then I could definitely feel it now; I couldn't ask what I wanted to with Sucre around, I could already hear that thick accent throwing words around in both English and Spanish, protesting against adding another person to the group. I shook my head slowly, letting a nervous laugh escape my lips. "It's- it's nothing important." I reassured him, though, the look in Michael's eyes let me know that he didn't believe me. "It's nothing, really. It- it can wait."

You'd think my mood would be a little more enthuastic as watched Michael go to town on making a replica of that key that to the infirmary; in a matter of speaking, our literal key out of this place. Though, I wasn't beside myself in this matter, several times over the last few minutes Michael had asked me what was on my mind, and even though it was only us two in his cell at the moment…I still couldn't bring myself to ask him. Maybe it was immature of me to be afraid of the word no, but, the only way I could think of it was that a negative answer to my request was a matter of life and death. I saw the way David stumbled back into cell block after yard today, eyes low with fear and mouth shut tight as he took his time returning to his cell, I couldn't help but feel partially guilty for the situation he was in…maybe it I had of just tolerated him. "Whenever you're ready to tell me what's on your mind." Michael informed me from his spot on the floor, without breaking eye contact with the flame that licked at the plastic of the key that was held in his hand; I could hear the smirk in his voice, even though I couldn't see his face. As much as I tried to hide mine I couldn't, it was like he knew everything about me in a sense, and it made me feel at ease. I guess he was awaiting a real answer this time; he turned around flicking the lighter off, his eyes dragging over me for a moment before he turned back around. "Seriously, Erica, what do you need me to do? I mean, I do 'owe' you?"

Another interruption; Sucre was yet again the culprit, maybe this was a sign. "Did you hear about Avocado?" he asked, a nasty smile twisting on his face, almost in a grimace. I'm surprised I didn't get whiplash when I looked back up at Sucre my eyes wide with fear, just the name sent a shiver up my spine and my stomach into a fit. The inmate made a slicing noise as he grimaced again, throwing the blue prison issued shirt onto the top bunk as I stood up. "Got his _cojones _sliced."

"Ho-how?" I rather quickly; Sucre raised and eyebrow as he looked at me, mumbling something about me not having to worry about that happening to me.

"Tweener," he answered shortly; oh, David. This wasn't good for him, I'm not even sure to what extent of trouble he had just gotten himself into, but, I could only guess that it wasn't good. "But, Avocado's sayin' that it got caught on the frame when hoping down off his bunk." Sucre explained as he walked towards the sink that was positioned next to Michael, my eyes followed his movements, swirling with unresolved questions. I could see Michael watching me closely from the corner of my eye…hopefully he'd catch on.

"Why-Why did he lie?" I pressed. Sucre turned from his at the sink and shrugged before turning back around, the sound of water splashing about the sink sounded for a moment before he turned back to me, running a tanned hand over his face.

"He doesn't want Tweener to go to SHU, because he can't get him in there." He continued to explain; this situation was turning worse with every second. "All I have to say is," the sound he made was between a scoff and a laugh, "When Avocado gets out of the infirmary…Tweener's a dead man." _I'm gonna kill him, Michael…I'm gonna kill him._ I didn't mean what I said before, I mean, everybody says things that they don't mean every once and a while, right? I guess my composure had grown rigid throughout the course of the short conversation; though I wasn't paying much attention to Michael at the moment I could see him slowly getting to his feet from his position on the floor, and I knew exactly who he was coming for.

"Excuse me." I said rather quickly, voice shaking before I darted for the open cell door.

* * *

**Sara Pov**

"What about your car?" Katie asked, the overly helpful nurse exhausting all ideas of where my keys might have gone. I shook my head as I opened a few of the cabinets in the exam room that I usually occupied, my pale slender fingers moved things to a fro as a searched for them; those were one set of keys that I couldn't afford to loose. Sighing I slammed the cabinet doors shut and continued my hunt on the desk of messy files and papers that needed to be sent to one place or another; I don't know what it was that was making my schedule so tight, usually I had all this paper work done by now. Moving the stacks of papers around I put them into a neat pile, setting pens back in their holders and markers back in their specific drawers; organized, yeah right. Moving another brown folder to the side I was greeted with the 'fake' mug-shot of Boswell, my eyes lingered for a few more moments on the photograph…she looked exactly like her mother. I shook my head as I pushed it to the side, barely listening as Katie continued to recall my steps for me, asking me if I'd checked here or there for my keys…I never misplaced those, though, I guess it could have been possible considering the state I was in. Every time I was around Miss. Jones or my father, every time my eye caught the glint of that engagement ring that my father had placed on her finger…I wanted to tell them; I wanted to tell her I knew who her daughter was, I wanted to tell her I knew she was okay…I wanted to tell my dad so he would get her out of here, but, why ruin her relationships with the inmates she had grown to call her _friends_. Just the thought sent a sickening shiver though my body.

"No, Katie," I replied, grabbing my purse from under the desk before I placed it onto the table, right next to the file that was still laying open on my desk. "I had it right after lunch," my hands suddenly stop their rummaging, _lunch_. Come to think of it, that friend of Erica's was sitting uncomfortably close to me during that hour, I initially thought it was because I was the only person there that had been acquainted with her before, but now…it took a moment for me to gather my recollections of that hour, where her hand was positioned, the awkwardness whenever she looked down when she spoke, the angle of my purse. With narrowed eyes and new sense of anger I stood up from the desk, my legs propelling me forward at a speed that I usually used in emergencies only. Hopefully I was wrong about the assumption that had just come to light; hopefully it was all just a big misunderstanding at that she was just nervous about being around people that she didn't know.

"Kevin," I called as I neared the visitation rooms, calling out to the CO that was usually on duty at the counter that required that all visitors sign in during their duration here. "I need to take a look at that visitation log." The tone of my voice and swiftness of my feet must have told him that something big was brewing, usually he would have asked me to wait a moment until he was finished discussing whatever he was with the other officers, but not this time. He promptly followed me, rushing behind the desk he handed me the log which I took from her just as quickly; my fingers tore though the stack of pages quickly, eyes roaming over the scribbles of black ink and torn paper. The first two pages were completely devoid of anything pertaining to Erica, but her friends name….it was there, starring me right in the face…and the inmate she had visited…Scofield.

I slammed the phone down onto the receiver for the hundredth time that afternoon; the total count stood at ten calls and eight messages. Emily Wiklund had a lot of explaining to do, and I hoped she understood from the last message that it as better to take it up with me…because if not…she'd be getting a visit from the authorities very soon.

**End Pov**

The prison seemed to be getting generous with the time that they let us spend in the yard; it was nearing chow, or lunch time, when they let us back into yard; deciding to give us an extra hour because it was getting to become extremely nice out during the day, but, it was Illinois after all…for all we know it could snow tomorrow. Unfortunately, not even the nice weather could shake me out of the mood I was still in, the news that Sucre had provided me with was finally sinking in; David needed help, it was simple as that. Truthfully, Michael was the only person in this prison that could help him; the only problem was I didn't know if he even wanted to help him. My teeth tore at the cuticles of my finger nails as I sat on the bleachers, practicing my normal routine of watching the rest of the inmates mingle amongst themselves. This was the very activity that I had done on my first days here at the prison, back when this was just a one week stint to get a good article…now it was a matter of life and death. "You wanna tell me why you've been acting so strange lately?" Michael asked his voice low and soft as he took a seat next to me on the bleachers; he wasn't stupid, I had a feeling he already knew why I was acting so strange; I also had a feeling that he knew what and who my earlier question was pertaining to.

"You wanna know what I wanted to ask you?" I inquired, turning so I could look at him; the way he looked at me was strange, I'm surprised it never stuck me like this before. He examined people when he looked at them, reading their feathers, their movements, their gestures, their expressions…everything. He smiled smugly, letting me know that my assumption was correct. It took me a few moments to finally muster up the courage; God knows I've been trying to do that all day long. "It's about David." I finally revealed, I was surprised to see him nodding, almost as if he had been thinking the same thing.

"I thought so." He answered coolly, his face dropping quickly though. "But he can't come with us, Erica…we already have-"I nodded my head quickly, before looking out across the yard.

"Michael," I couldn't give up on this kid, I mean, sure, he annoyed me to no end most of the time but…he had grown to be like the little brother I never had. "Do you remember Cherry?" I turned my attention back to him as he studied my face yet again, those blue eyes piercing mine with the force of a thousand knives. "David needs your help." My voice faltered slightly, I couldn't make Michael do this, but, I didn't know that if he didn't do this he would feel regret the rest of his life…as would I. I shivered slightly as a warm cascaded up the length of my arm, fingers curling around my hand as it rested on the cold metal of the seats; call it cliché, and call me naïve and stupid, but, this felt right…that felt right, even thought it probably wasn't "Just…just think about it." I halfheartedly pleaded. He nodded slowly, and that was enough for me.

"Boswell!" my hand quickly ripped from his grasp as the bellowing of the CO entered my conscious, drawing me away from whatever, dare I say it, mushy thoughts that could, but doubly, find their way into my mind. I snapped my head in his direction as he motioned for me with a jerk of his chin, "Doc says it's time for your meds."

_Be polite_; I always reminded myself not to give Tancredi any lip, though, I don't think I'd ever done that anyway…I didn't want to start. The door of the exam room opened slowly, the female doctor sauntering in with a try full of Dixie cups and pill bottles; one of them probably being mine. I surprised when she looked up at me and smiled, not a real one of course, but, it was a smile nonetheless. Perhaps she was trying to take the high road as well? "Hi." She answered shortly, I wanted to roll my eyes, and the tone of her voice hadn't changed much. I responded with a smile and a nod of my head as I let my legs swing back and forth. Michael had given me the keys to return to Sara before I left the bleachers to follow the CO up here, hopefully, I had put them in a strategic enough place that it would look like they had been left there by accident; god, prison really had made me into a thieving, lying, little bitch, hadn't it? I'd need to go though months of therapy after I was out of here anyway, I'd be back to my old self in no time.

"How are you?" I asked, attempting to make conversation. The rattle of the pill bottles filled the eerily silent room as she opened the plastic containers, pouring a couple of the white tables into the Dixie cup she handed it to me. I shivered, the look on her face was one of many emotions that seemed to have perched themselves on her features today; betrayal, anger, skepticism…it was all there. I looked back at her, watching her carefully as I took the cup from her hands slowly.

"I'm fine. You?" you responded, her voice stoic and cold. I couldn't shake the feeling that she knew something was up. Whenever someone was this nice to you after having been in a hostile hate relationship with you was always a bad sign, no matter if it was a try at redemption or not. I nodded and responded with 'fine' just as unemotionally as she had. Still watching me closely she shoved a small cup of water in my direction. A few moments later, another nurse entered the room, I hadn't learned her name but she seemed nice enough. Setting a few files down on the desk she laughed to herself; the exchange between her and Sara was one of confusion as the nurse held up the 'missing' keys, informing Sara that she just didn't look hard enough for them. I swallowed the pills quickly, almost choking on the water as it splashed down my throat. Sara's eyes were already doe like and had grown to an abnormally large size as she starred at me, almost as if she was accusing me of something…the keys?

"There's a maintenance man out here. Says you want him to change the locks? You want me to call him off? " the nurse informed her; wait…I could feel the blood literally freeze in my veins as I looked up slowly, trying to keep the size of my own brown hues to their normal size…but it was proving difficult as the door opened, the dirty over-all clad man was already going to town on the door before she had even given him the okay.

"No," Sara drawled, our eyes connecting as she looked at me with hyaline eyes, completely devoid off all emotion. "Send him in." her voice was condescending and had a ring of mocking to it.

_Shit, shit, shit, shit_. I cannot begin to explain how hard it had been to keep the lump in my throat from exploding as I was led towards the chow room; this couldn't be happening. After all that work, all of that deceiving…how was I supposed to tell Michael. The rest of the group? I could have my answer soon enough, having lost my appetite to the fear that was coursing though my veins at the moment I skipped the chow line and made a bee line for the usually table that Michael and Sucre occupied during their time in here; there was no way I could super coat this news, nor could I dry it out. "Ay, _mami_, finally decided to join us." Sucre greeted me as I neared the table; I ignored his greeting and swiftly took a seat next to Michael. The lump in my throat was becoming harder to control and not to mention ignore. Obviously Sara knew something was up, the way she looked at me…she knew…that was blatantly obvious, and I had a feeling she knew more than just about the key incident… I took a few shaky breaths as Michael looked in my direction, concern immediately etched in his features as he turned his body towards mine.

"Michael," my voice shook slightly; his eyes grew more concerned, the blue hues growing in size. "Sara, she-she changed the locks." His did more than grow in size, if it wasn't for the nerves that were behind the eye holding it in place the perfect, usually sparking orbs would have fallen from their sockets at the new information. I could already hear Sucre mumbling sayings in Spanish.

"How did she know? Did you hide the key? Are you sure she's doing this?" he may have asked this questions in a calm in collected manner, but the way I perceived them, they were in a jumped sentence, each one of them overlapping the other in twisted lines laced with urgency and fear. I could feel the tears brimming my eyes, gathering at the corners as I listened to myself answer him in a disorganized manner of 'yes' and 'I don't knows' and 'yes, I'm sure.'

"What are we gonna do?" I panicked; as far as I knew this was the only other plan that Michael had, sure, he could have come up with six more backups but with being pressed for time that was high unlikely. He was quiet for a moment, Sucre still mumbling in Spanish with his head down, he only looked up a few times to return back to his earlier sayings. I wiped the tears away from my eyes quickly, biting at the inside of my cheeks as the realization smacked me in the face once more; we weren't getting out of here.

"There's only one thing that _you_ can do, Erica…"

Me…It always boils down to me…

**A/N: **Theres a long one for you guys! To make up for my absence; I realize that this isn't' my best, I always have a hard time jumping back into the story, but my PB muse is slowly returning. I originally planned on having this fic done this weekend, but, with the length that these are chapters are turning out to be that seems unlikely. I will have another chapter up tomorrow night and then….SPRING BREAK STARTS ON THE 15th! So I will have plenty of time to finish it next weekend and get the sequel out by Sunday the 17th! Again, I apologize for the quality of this chapter. Oh, and EHunter82….thanks for whooping' my butt into gear!


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